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THE  LIBRARY 

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JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 


STepts 


THE   VISION   OF   SIR   LAUNFAL 
AND    OTHER    POEMS 


BY 

JAMES    RUSSELL    LOWELL 


EDITED  WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES  BY 
JULIAN  W.  ABERNETHY,  PH.D.,  PRINCIPAL  OF 
THE  BERKELEY  INSTITUTE,  BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES     E.    MERRILL    CO. 


COPYRIGHT,    1906 

BY 
CHARLES  E.  MERRILL  CO. 


PREFACE 

* 

THE  aim  of  this  edition  of  the  Vision  of  Sir 
Launfal  is  to  furnish  the  material  that  must  be 
used  in  any  adequate  treatment  of  the  poem  in 
the  class  room,  and  to  suggest  other  material  that 
may  be  used  in  the  more  leisurely  and  fruitful 
method  of  study  that  is  sometimes  possible  in  spite 
of  the  restrictions  of  arbitrary  courses  of  study. 

In  interpreting  the  poem  with  young  students, 
special  emphasis  should  be  given  to  the  ethical 
significance,  the  broad  appeal  to  human  sym 
pathy  and  the  sense  of  a  common  brotherhood  of 
men,  an  appeal  that  is  in  accord  with  the  altruistic 
tendencies  of  the  present  time;  to  the  intimate 
appreciation  and  love  of  nature  expressed  in  the 
poem,  feelings  also  in  accord  with  the  present 
movement  of  cultured  minds  toward  the  natural 
world ;  •  to  the  lofty  and  inspiring  idealism  of 
Lowell,  as  revealed  in  the  poems  included  in  this 
volume  and  in  his  biography,  and  also  as  con 
trasted  with  current  materialism;  and,  finally,  to 
the  romantic  sources  of  the  story  in  the  legends 
of  King  Arthur  and  his  table  round,  a  region  of 
literary  delight  too  generally  unknown  to  present- 
day  students. 

3 


4  PREFACE 

After  those  general  topics,  it  is  assumed  that 
such  matters  as  literary  structure  and  poetic 
beauty  will  receive  due  attention.  If  the  tech 
nical  faults  of  the  poem,  which  critics  are  at  much 
pains  to  point  out,  are  not  discovered  by  the  stu 
dent,  his  knowledge  will  be  quite  as  profitable. 
Additional  reading  in  Lowell's  works  should  be 
secured,  and  can  be  through  the  sympathetic 
interest  and  enthusiasm  of  the  instructor.  The  fol 
lowing  selections  may  be  used  for  rapid  examina 
tion  and  discussion:  Under  the  Willows,  The  Fir. 4 
Snow- Fall,  Under  the  Old  Khn,  Auf  Wiederxchen, 
tiirnthiri  in  the  I'a^toral  Lhie,  Jonathan,  lo  Joint, 
Mr.  I  Iowa  ttiqlow  to  the  Editor  oj  the  Atlantic 
Monthly,  and  the  prose  essays  Mi/  (lardcn  Ac 
quaintance  and  A  (iood  \Vord  for  Whiter.  The 
opportunity  should  not  be  lost  for  making  the 
students  forever  and  interestedly  acquainted  with 
Lowell,  witli  the  poet  and  the  man. 

The  editor  naturally  docs  not  assume  respon 
sibility  for  the  character  of  the  examination  ques 
tions  given  at  the  end  of  this  volume.  They  are 
questions  that  have  been  used  in  recent  years  in 
college  entrance  papers  by  two  eminent  examina 
tion  boards. 

J.  W.  A. 

October  1,  1908. 


CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION  :  PAOW 

Life  of  Lowell 7 

Critical  Appreciations 22 

The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal 26 

The  Commemoration  Ode 33 

Bibliography 39 

Poets'  Tributes  to  Lowell 40 

POEMS : 

The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal 41 

The  Shepherd  of  King  Admetus  .       .....  59 

An  Incident  in  a  Railroad  Car (jl 

Hebe 66 

To  the  Dandelion •  07 

My  Love 72 

The  Changeling 75 

An  Indian-Summer  Reverie 77 

The  Oak 97 

Beaver  Brook 100 

The  Present  Crisis 103 

The  Courtin' Ill 

The  Commemoration  Ode  116 


6  CONTENTS 

NOTES:  PAOK 

The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal 13/5 

The  Shepherd  of  King  Admetus        1/51 

Hebe 1/51 

To  the  Dandelion 1/52 

My  Love 1  />:? 

The  Changeling    ' 1/5)5 

An  Indian-Summer  Reverie 1/5-1 

The  Oak 1/59 

Beaver  Brook 1/5!) 

The  Present  Crisis         160 

The  Courtin' 1C>1 

The  Commemoration  Ode 162 

EXAMINATION  QUESTIONS 171 


INTRODUCTION 

LIFE  OF  LOWELL 

IN  Cambridge  there  arc  two  literary  shrines  to  which 
visitors  are  sure  to  find  their  way  soon  after  passing  the 
Harvard  gates,  "Craigie  House,"  the  home  of  Longfellow 
and  "Elmwood,"  the  home  of  Lowell.  Though  their 
hallowed  retirement  has  been  profaned  by  the  encroach 
ments  of  the  growing  city,  yet  in  their  simple  dignity 
these  fine  old  colonial  mansions  still  bespeak  the  noble 
associations  of  the  past,  and  stand  as  memorials  of  the 
finest  products  of  American  culture. 

Elmwood  was  built  before  the  Revolution  by  Thomas 
Oliver,  the  Tory  governor,  who  signed  his  abdication  at 
the  invitation  of  a  committee  of  "about  four  thousand 
people"  who  surrounded  his  house  at  Cambridge.  The 
property  was  confiscated  by  the  Commonwealth  and 
used  by  the  American  army  during  the  war.  In  1818 
it  was  purchased  by  the  Rev.  Charles  Lowell,  pastor  of 
the  West  Congregational  Church  in  Boston,  and  after 
ninety  years  it  is  still  the  family  home.  Here  was  born, 
February  22,  1819,  James  Russell  Lowell,  with  surround 
ings  most  propitious  for  the  nurturing  of  a  poet-soul. 
Within  the  stately  home  there  was  a  refined  family  life; 
the  father  had  profited  by  the  unusual  privilege  of  three 
years'  study  abroad,  and  his  library  of  some  four  thou 
sand  volumes  was  not  limited  to  theology;  the  mother, 
whose  maiden  name  was  Spence  and  who  traced  her 
Scotch  ancestry  back  to  the  hero  of  the  ballad  of  Sir 
Patrick  Spcns,  taught  her  children  the  good  old  ballads 

7 


8  INTRODUCTION 

and  the  romantic  stories  in  the  Fairie  Queen,  and  it,  was 
one  of  the  poet's  earliest  delights  to  recount  the  adven 
tures  of  Spenser's  heroes  and  heroines  to  his  playmates. 
An  equally  important  influence  upon  his  early  youth 
was  the  out-of-door  life  at  Elmwood.  To  the  love  of 
nature  his  soul  was  early  dedicated,  and  no  American 
poet  has  more  truthfully  and  beautifully  interpreted 
the  inspired  teachings  of  nature,  whispered  through  the 
solemn  tree-tops  or  caroled  by  the  happy  birds.  The 
open  fields  surrounding  Elmwood  and  the  farms  for  miles 
around  were  his  familiar  playground,  and  furnished  daily 
adventures  for  his  curious  and  eager  mind.  The  mere 
delight  of  this  experience  with  nature,  he  says,  "made 
my  childhood  the  richest  part  of  my  life.  It  seems  to 
me  as  if  I  had  never  seen  nature  again  since  those  old 
days  when  the  balancing  of  a  yellow  butterfly  over  a 
thistle  bloom  was  spiritual  food  and  lodging  for  a  whole 
forenoon."  In  the  Cathedral  is  an  autobiographic  pas 
sage  describing  in  a  series  of  charming  pictures  some  of 
those  choice  hours  of  childhood : 

"  One  summer  hour  abides,  what  time  I  perched, 
Dappled  with  noonday,  under  simmering  leaves, 
And  pulled  the  pulpy  oxhearts,  while  aloof 
An  oriole  clattered  and  the  robins  shrilled, 
Denouncing  me  an  alien  and  a  thief." 

Quite  like  other  boys  Lowell  was  subjected  to  the  pro 
cesses  of  the  more  formal  education  of  books.  He  was 
first  sent  to  a  "dame  school,"  and  then  to  the  private 
school  of  William  Wells,  under  whose  rigid  tuition  he 
became  thoroughly  grounded  in  the  classics.  Among 
his  schoolfellows  was  W.  W.  Story,  the  poet-sculptor, 
who  continued  his  life-long  friend.  Thomas  Wentworth 
Higginson,  who  was  one  of  the  younger  boys  of  the  school, 
recalls  the  high  talk  of  Story  and  Lowell  about  the  Fairie 
Queen.  At  fifteen  he  entered  Harvard  College,  then  an 


institution  with  about  two  hundred  students.  The 
course  of  study  in  those  dnys  was  narrow  and  dull,  a 
pretty  steady  diet  of  (Ireek,  Latin  and  Mathematics, 
with  an  occasional  dessert  of  Paley's  Evidences  of  Clirix- 
lidflihj  or  Butler's  Amtloyy.  Lowell  was  not  distinguished 
for  scholarship,  but  he  read  omnivorously  and  wrote 
copiously,  often  in  smooth  (lowing  verse,  fashioned  after 
the  accepted  English  nioc'els  of  the  period.  He  was  an 
editor  of  Harvardiana,  the  college  magazine,  and  wa>, 
elected  class  poet  in  his  senior  year.  But  his  habit  of 
lounging  with  the  poets  in  the  secluded  alcoves  of  the 
old  library,  in  preference  to  attending  recitations,  finally 
became  too  scandalous  for  official  forbearance,  and  he 
was  rusticated,  "on  account  of  constant  neglect  of  his 
college  duties,"  as  the  faculty  records  state.  He  was  sent 
to  Concord,  where  his  exile  was  not  without  mitigating 
profit,  as  he  became  acquainted  with  Emerson  and  Tho- 
reau.  Here  he  wrote  the  class  poem,  which  he  was  per 
mitted  to  circulate  in  print  at  his  Commencement.  This 
production,  which  now  stands  at  the  head  of  the  list  of 
his  published  works,  was  curiously  unprophetic  of  his 
later  tendencies.  It  was  written  in  the  neatly  polished 
couplets  of  the  Pope  type  and  other  imita'tive  metres, 
and  aimed  to  satirize  the  radical  movements  of  the  period, 
especially  the  transcendentalists  and  abolitionists,  with 
both  of  whom  he  was  soon  to  be  in  active  sympathy. 

Lowell's  first  two  years  out  of  college  were  troubled 
with  rather  more  than  the  usual  doubts  and  question 
ings  that  attend  a  young  man's  choice  of  a  profession. 
He  studied  for  a  bachelor's  degree  in  law,  which  he  ob 
tained  in  two  years.  But  the  wrork  was  done  reluctantly. 
Law  books,  he  says,  "I  am  reading  with  as  few  wrry  faces 
as  I  may."  Though  he  w-as  nominally  practicing  law 
for  two  years,  there  is  no  evidence  that  he  ever  had  a 
client,  except  the  fictitious  one  so  pleasantly  described 
in  his  first  magazine  article,  entitled  My  Firat  Client. 


10  INTRODUCTION 

From  Coke  and  Blackstone  his  mind  would  inevitably 
slip  away  to  hold  more  congenial  communion  with  the 
poets.  He  became  intensely  interested  in  the  old  Kng- 
lish  dramatists,  an  interest  that  resulted  in  his  first  series 
of  literary  articles,  The  Old  Knylixh  Dramatists,  published 
in  the  Boston  Miscellany.  The  favor  with  which  these 
articles  were  received  increased,  he  writes,  the  "hope  of 
being  able  one  day  to  support  myself  by  my  pen,  and  to 
leave  a  calling  which  I  hate,  and  for  which  I  am  not  well 
fitted,  to  say  the  least." 

During  this  struggle  between  law  and  literature  an 
influence  came  into  Lowell's  life  that  settled  his  pur 
poses,  directed  his  aspirations  and  essentially  determined 
his  career.  In  1839  he  writes  to  a  friend  about  a  "very 
pleasant  young  lady,"  who  "knows  more  poetry  than 
any  one  I  am  acquainted  with."  This  pleasant  young 
\ady  was  Maria  White,  who  became  his  wife  in  1844. 
The  loves  of  this  young  couple  constitute  one  of  the  most 
pleasing  episodes  in  the  history  of  our  literature,  idyllic 
in  its  simple  beauty  and  inspiring  in  its  spiritual  perfect- 
ness.  "Miss  White  was  a  woman  of  unusual  loveliness," 
says  Mr.  Norton,  "and  of  gifts  of  mind  and  heart  still 
more  unusual,  which  enabled  her  to  enter  with  complete 
sympathy  into  her  lover's  intellectual  life  and  to  direct 
his  genius  to  its  highest  aims."  She  was  herself  a  poet, 
and  a  little  volume  of  her  poems  published  privately  after 
her  death  is  an  evidence  of  her  refined  intellectual  gifts 
and  lofty  spirit. 

In  1841  Lowell  published  his  first  collection  of  poems, 
entitled  A  Year's  Life.  The  volume  was  dedicated  to 
"Una,"  a  veiled  admission  of  indebtedness  for  its  inspira 
tion  to  Miss  White.  Two  poems  particularly,  Irene  and 
My  Love,  and  the  best  in  the  volume,  are  rapturous  ex 
pressions  of  his  new  inspiration.  In  later  years  he  re 
ferred  to  the  collection  as  "poor  windfalls  of  unripe 
experience."  Only  nine  of  the  sixty-eight  poems  were 


INTRODUCTION  11 

preserved  in  subsequent  collections.  In  1843,  with  a 
young  friend,  Robert  Carter,  Lowell  launched  a  new 
magazine,  The  Pioneer,  with  the  high  purpose,  as  the  pro 
spectus  stated,  of  giving  the  public  "a  rational  substitute" 
for^he  "namby-pamby  love  tales  and  sketches  monthly 
poured  out  to  them  by  many  of  our  popular  magazines." 
These  young  reformers  did  not  know  how  strongly  the 
great  reading  public  is  attached  to  its  literary  flesh-pots, 
and  so  the  Pioneer  proved  itself  too  good  to  live  in  just 
three  months.  The  result  of  the  venture  to, Lowell  was 
an  interesting  lesson  in  editorial  work  and  a  debt  of  eight 
een  hundred  dollars.  His  next  venture  was  a  second 
volume  of  Poems,  issued  in  1S44,  in  which  the  permanent 
lines  of  his  poetic  development  appear  more  clearly  than 
in  A  Year's  Life.  The  tone  of  the  first  volume  was  uni 
formly  serious,  but  in  the  second  his  muse's  face  begins 
to  brighten  with  the  occasional  play  of  wit  and  humor. 
The  volume  was  heartily  praised  by  the  critics  and  his 
reputation  as  a  new  poet  of  convincing  distinction  was 
established.  In  the  following  year  appeared  Conver 
sations  on  Some  of  the  Old  Poets,  a  volume  of  literary 
criticism  interesting  now  mainly  as  pointing  to  maturer 
work  in  this  field. 

It  is  generally  stated  that  the  influence  of  Maria  White 
made  Lowell  an  Abolitionist,  but  this  is  only  qualifiedly 
(rue.  A  year  before;  he  had  met  her  he  wrote  to  a  friend: 
"The  Abolitionists  are  the  only  ones  with  whom  I  sym 
pathize  of  the  present  extant  parties."  Freedom,  jus 
tice,  humanitarianism  were  fundamental  to  his  native 
idealism.  Maria  White's  enthusiasm  and  devotion  to 
the  cause  served  to  crystallize  his  sentiments  and  to 
stimulate  him  to  a  practical  participation  in  the  move 
ment.  Both  wrote  for  the  Liberty  Bell,  an  annual  pub 
lished  in  the  interests  of  the  anti-slavery  agitation. 
Immediately  after  their  marriage  they  went  to  Phila 
delphia  where  Lowell  for  a  time  was  an  editorial  writer 


12  INTRODUCTION 

for  the  Pennsylvania  Freeman,  an  anti-slavery  journal 
once  edited  by  Whittier.  During  the  next  six  years  he 
was  a  regular  contributor  to  the  Anti-Slavery  Standard, 
published  in  New  York.  In  all  of  this  prose  writing 
Lowell  exhibited  the  ardent  spirit  of  the  reformer,  al 
though  he  never  adopted  the  extreme  views  of  Llarrison 
and  others  of  the  ultra-radical  wing  of  the  party. 

But  Lowell's  greatest  contribution  to  the  anti-slavery 
cause  was  the  Biyloiv  Papers,  a  series  of  satirical  poems 
in  the  Yankee  dialect,  aimed  at  the  politicians  who  were 
responsible  for  the  Mexican  War,  a  war  undertaken,  as 
he  believed,  in  the  interests  of  the  Southern  slaveholders. 
Hitherto  the  Abolitionists  had  been  regarded  with  con 
tempt  by  the  conservative,  complacent  advocates  of 
peace  and  "compromise,"  and  to  join  them  was  essen 
tially  to  lose  caste  in  the  best  society.  .But,  now  a  laugh 
ing  prophet  had  arisen  whose  tongue  was  tipped  with 
fire.  The  Bujluw  Papers  was  an  unexpected  blow  to 
the  slave  power.  Never  before  had  humor  been  used 
directly  us  a  weapon  in  political  warfare.  Soon  the  whole 
country  was  ringing  with  the  homely  phrases  of  Hosea 
Biglow's  satiric  humor,  and  deriding  conservatism  began 
to  change  countenance.  "No  speech,  no  plea,  no  ap 
peal,"  says  ( ieorge  William  Curtis,  "was  comparable  in 
popular  and  permanent  effect  with  this  pitiless  tempest  of 
fire  and  hail,  in  the  form  of  wit,  argument,  satire,  knowl 
edge,  insight,  learning,  common-sense,  and  patriotism. 
It  was  humor  of  the  purest  strain,  but  humor  in  deadly 
earnest."  As  an  embodiment  of  the  elemental  Yankee 
character  and  speech  it  is  a  classic;  of  final  authority. 
Says  Curtis,  "Burns  did  not  give  to  the  Scotch  tongue  a 
nobler  immortality  than  Lowell  gave  to  the  dialect  of 
New  England." 

The  year  1848  was  one  of  remarkably  productive  re 
sults  for  Lowell.  Besides  the  Biylow  Papers  and  some 
forty  magazine  articles  and  poems,  he  published  a  third 


INTRODUCTION  13 

collection  of  Poems,  the  Vision  of  Sir  Launjal,  and  the 
Fable  /or  Critics.  The  various  phases  cf  his  composite 
genius  were  nearly  all  represented  in  these  volumes. 
The  Fable  was  a  good-natured  satire  upon  his  fellow 
authors,  in  which  he  touched  up  in  rollicking  rhymed 
couplets  the  merits  and  weaknesses  of  each,  not  omitting 
himself,  with  witty  characterization  and  acute  critical 
judgment;  and  it  is  still  read  for  its  delicious  humor  and 
sterling  criticism.  For  example,  the  lines  on  Poe  will 
always  be  quoted: 

"There  comes  Poe,  with  his  raven,  like  Barnahy  Rudge, 
Three-fifths  of  him  genius  and  two-fifths  sheer  fudge." 

And  so  the  sketch  of  Hawthorne: 

"  There  is  Hawthorne,  with  ge?iitis  so  shrinking  and  rare 
That  you  hardly  at  firs!,  sec  (lie  strength  that  is  there; 
A  frame  so  robust,  with  a  nature  so  sweet, 
So  earnest,  so  graceful,  so  lithe  and  so  fleet, 
Is  worth  a  descent  from  Olympus  to  meet." 

Lowell  was  now  living  in  happy  content  at  Klmwood. 
His  father,  whom  he  ouce  speaks  of  as  a  "Dr.  Primrose 
in  the  comparative  degree, "  had  lost  a  large  portion  of 
his  property,  and  literary  journals  in  those  days  sent 
very  small  checks  to  young  authors.  So  humble  frugal 
ity  'was  an  attendant  upon  the  high  thinking  of  the 
poet  couple,  but  this  did  not  matter,  since  the  richest 
objects  of  their  ideal  world  could  be  had  without  price. 
But  clouds  suddenly  gathered  over  their  beautiful  lives. 
Four  children  were  born,  three  of  whom  died  in  infancy. 
Lowell's  deep  and  lasting  grief  for  his  first-born  is  tenderly 
recorded  in  the  poems  She  Came  and  Went  and  the  First 
Snow-Fail.  The  volume  of  poems  published  in  1848 
was  "reverently  dedicated"  to  the  memory  of  "our  little 
Blanche,"  and  in  the  introductory  poem  addressed  "To 


14  INTRODUCTION 

M.  W.  L. "  he  poured  forth  his  sorrow  like  a  libation  of 
tears : 

"  I  thought  our  love  at  full,  but  I  did  err; 
Joy's  wreath  drooped  o'er  mine  eyes;  I  could  not  see 
That  sorrow  in  our  happy  world  must  he 
Love's  deepest  spokesman  and  interpreter." 

The  year  1851-52  was  spent  abroad  for  the  benefit  of 
Mrs.  Lowell's  health,  which  was  now  precarious.  At 
Rome  their  little  son  Walter  died,  and  one  year  after 
their  return  to  Elmwood  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow  came 
to  the  poet  in  the  death  of  Mrs.  Lowell,  October,  1853. 
For  years  after  the  dear  old  home  was  to  him  The  Dead 
House,  as  he  wrote  of  it: 

"  For  it  died  that  autumn  morning 
When  she,   its  soul,   was  borne 
To  lie  all  dark  on  the  hillside 

That  looks  over  woodland  and  corn." 

Before  1854  Lowell's  literary  success  had  been  won 
mainly  in  verse.  With  the  appearance  in  the  magazines 
of  A  Moosehead  Journal,  Fireside  Travels,  and  Lea  res 
from  My  Italian  Journal  his  success  as  a  prose  essayist 
began.  Henceforth,  and  against  his  will,  his  prose  was 
a  stronger  literary  force  than  his  poetry,  lie  now  gave 
a  course  of  lectures  on  the  Knglish  poets  at  the  Lowell 
Institute,  and  during  the  progress  of  these  lectures  he 
received  notice  of  his  appointment  to  succeed  Longfellow 
in  the  professorship  of  the  French  and  Spanish  languages 
and  Belles-Lettres  in  Harvard  College.  A  year  was 
spent  in  Europe  in  preparation  for  his  new  work,  and 
during  the  next  twenty  years  he  faithfully  performed  the 
duties  of  the  professorship,  pouring  forth  the  ripening 
fruits  of  his  varied  studies  in  lectures  such  as  it  is  not  often 
the  privilege  of  college  students  to  hear.  That  pulling 


INTRODUCTION  15 

in  the  yoke  of  this  steady  occupation  was  sometimes 
trailing  is  shown  in  his  private  letters.  To  W.  D.  Howells 
he  wrote  regretfully  of  the  time  and  energy  given  to  teach 
ing,  and  of  his  conviction  that  he  would  have  been  a 
bet  tf  r  poet  if  he  "  had  not  estranged  the  muse  by  donning  a 
professor's  gown."  But  a  good  teacher  always  bears  in 
his  left  hand  the  lamp  of  sacrifice. 

In  1857  Lowell  w*as  married  to  Miss  Frances  Dunlap, 
"a  woman  of  remarkable  gifts  and  grace  of  person  and 
character,"  says  Charles  Eliot  Norton.  In  the  same 
year  the  Atlantic  Monthly  was  launched  and  Lowell 
became  its  first  editor.  This  position  he  held  four  years. 
Under  his  painstaking  and  wise  management  the  mag 
azine  quickly  became  what  it  has  continued  to  be,  the 
finest  representative  of  true  literature  among  period 
icals.  In  1S64  he  joined  his  friend,  Professor  Norton,  in 
the  editorship  of  the  North  American  Review,  to  which  he 
gave  much  of  the  distinction  for  which  this  periodical 
was  once  so  worthily  famous.  In  this  first  appeared  his 
masterly  essays  on  the  great  poets,  Chaucer,  Dante, 
Shakespeare,  Spenser,  Milton,  Dryden,  and  the  others, 
which  were  gathered  into  the  three  volumes,  Among  My 
Books,  first  and  second  series,  and  My  Study  Windows. 
Variety  was  given  to  this  critical  writing  by  such  charm 
ing  essays  as  A  Good  Word  for  Winter  and  the  deliciously 
caustic  paper  On  a  Certain  Condescension  in  Foreigners. 

One  of  the  strongest  elements  of  Lowell's  character 
was  patriotism.  His  love  of  country  and  his  native  soil 
was  not  merely  a  principle,  it  was  a  passion.  No  Amer 
ican  author  has  done  so  much  to  enlarge  and  exalt  the 
ideals  of  democracy.  An  intense  interest  in  the  welfare 
of  the  nation  broadened  the  scope  of  his  literary  work 
and  led  him  at  times  into  active  public  life.  During  the 
Civil  War  he  published  a  second  series  of  Biglow  Papers, 
in  which,  says  Mr.  Creenslet,  "we  feel  the  vital  stirring 
of  the  mind  of  Lowell  as  it  was  moved  by  the  great  war; 


16  INTRODUCTION 

and  if  they  never  had  quite  the  popular  reverberation 
of  the  first  series,  they  made  deeper  impression,  and  are 
u  more  priceless  possession  of  our  literature."  When 
peace  was  declared  in  April,  1805,  he  wrote  to  Professor 
Norton:  "The  news,  my  dear  Charles,  is  from  Heaven. 
I  felt  a  strange  and  tender  exaltation.  I  wanted  to 
laugh  and  I  wanted  to  cry,  and  ended  by  holding  my 
peace  and  feeling  devoutly  thankful.  There  is  some 
thing  magnificent  in  having  a  country  to  love."  On 
July  21  a  solemn  service  was  held  at  Harvard  College 
in  memory  of  her  sons  who  had  died  in  the  war,  in  which 
Lowell  gave  the  Commemoration  Ode,  a  poem  which  is 
now  regarded,  not  as  popular,  but  as  marking  the  highest 
reach  of  his  poetic  power.  The  famous  passage  character 
izing  Lincoln  is  unquestionably  the  finest  tribute  ever 
paid  to  Lincoln  by  an  American  author. 

In  Hie  presidential  campaign  of  1S70  Lowell  was  ac 
tive,  making  speeches,  serving  as  delegate  to  the  Repub 
lican  Convention,  and  later  as  Presidential  Elector. 
There  was  even  much  talk  of  sending  him  to  Congress. 
Through  the  friendly  offices  of  Mr.  Howells,  who  was  in 
intimate  personal  relations  with  President  Hayes,  he 
was  appointed  Minister  to  Spain.  This  honor  was  the 
more  gratifying  to  him  because  he  had  long  been  devoted 
to  the  Spanish  literature  and  language,  and  he  could 
now  read  his  beloved  Calderon  with  new  joys.  In  18SO 
he  was  promoted  to  the  English  mission,  and  during  the 
next  four  years  represented  his  country  at  the  Court  of 
St.  James  in  a  manner  that  raised  him  to  the  highest 
point  of  honor  and  esteem  in  both  nations.  His  career 
in  England  was  an  extraordinary,  in  most  respects  an 
unparalleled  success.  He  was  our  first  official  represent 
ative  to  win  completely  the  heart  of  the  English  people, 
and  a  great  part  of  his  permanent  achievement  was  to 
establish  more  cordial  relations  between  the  two  coun 
tries.  His  literary  reputation  had  prepared  the  ground 


INTRODUCTION  17 

for  his  personal  popularity.  lie  was  greeted  as  "His 
Excellency  the  Ambassador  of  American  Literature  to 
the  Court  of  Shakespeare."  His  fascinating  personality 
won  friends  in  every  circle  of  society.  Queen  Victoria 
declared  that  during  her  long  reign  no  ambassador  had 
created  so  much  interest  or  won  so  much  regard.  He 
had  already  been  honored  by  degrees  from  Oxford  and 
Cambridge,  and  now  many  similar  honors  were  thrust 
upon  him.  He  was  acknowledged  to  be  the  best  after- 
dinner  speaker  in  England,  and  no  one  was  called  upon 
so  often  for  addresses  at  dedications,  the  unveiling  of 
tablets,  and  other  civic  occasions.  It  is  not  strange 
that  lie  became  attached  to  England  with  an  increasing 
affection,  but  there  was  no  diminution  of  his  intense 
Americanism.  Hi.s  celebrated  Birmingham  address  on 
Democracy  is  yet  our  clearest  and  noblest  exposition  of 
American  political  principles  and  ideals. 

With  the  inauguration  of  Cleveland  in  188")  Lowell's 
official  residence  in  England  came  to  an  end.  He  re 
turned  to  America  and  for  a  time  lived  with  his  daughter 
at  Deerfoot  Farm.  Mrs.  Lowell  had  died  in  England, 
and  he  could  not  carry  his  sorrow  back  to  Elm  wood  alone. 
He  now  leisurely  occupied  himself  with  literary  work, 
making  an  occasional  address  upon  literature  or  politics, 
which  was  always  distinguished  by  grace  and  dignity  of 
style  and  richness  of  thought. 

In  November,  188(5,  he  delivered  the  oration  at  the 
250th  anniversary  of  the  founding  of  Harvard  Univer 
sity,  and,  rising  to  the  requirements  of  this  notable  occa 
sion,  he  captivated  his  hearers,  among  whom  were  many 
distinguished  delegates  from  the  great  universities  of 
Europe  as  well  as  of  America,  by  the  power  of  his  thought 
and  the  felicity  of  his  expression. 

During  the  period  of  his  diplomatic  service  he  added 
almost  nothing  to  his  permanent  literary  product.  In 
1809  he  had  published  Under  the  Willows,  a  collection 


18  INTRODUCTION 

that  contains  some  of  his  finest  poems.  In  the  same 
year  The  Cathedral  was  published,  a  stately  poem  in 
blank  verse,  profound  in  thought,  with  many  passages 
of  great  poetic  beauty.  In  1888  a  final  collection  of 
poems  was  published,  entitled  Heartsease  and  Rue,  which 
opened  with  the  memorial  poem,  A/jawfz,  an  elegy  thai 
would  not  be  too  highly  honored  by  being  bound  in  a 
golden  volume  with  Lycidas,  Adonais  and  Tlii/rxtx.  (ioing 
back  to  his  earliest  literary  studies,  he  again  (1887)  lec 
tured  at  the  Lowell  Institute  on  the  old  dramatists. 
Occasionally  he  gave  a  poem  to  the  magazines  and  a 
collection  of  these  Last  Poems  was  made  in  18!)")  by  Pro 
fessor  Norton.  During  these  years  were  written  many 
of  the  charming  Lexers  to  personal  friends,  which  rank 
with  the  finest  literary  letters  ever  printed  and  must 
always  be  regarded  as  an  important  part  of  his  prose 
works. 

It  was  a  gracious  boon  of  providence  that  Lowell  was 
permitted  to  spend  his  last  years  at  Elmwood,  with  his 
daughter,  Mrs.  Burnett,  and  his  grandchildren.  There 
again,  as  in  the  early  days,  he  watched  the  orioles  build 
ing  their  nests  and  listened  to  the  tricksy  catbird's  call. 
To  an  English  friend  he  writes:  "I  watch  the  moon  rise 
behind  the  same  trees  through  which  I  first  saw  it  sev 
enty  years  ago  and  have  a  strange  feeling  of  permanence, 
as  if  I  should  watch  it  seventy  years  longer."  In  tin- 
old  library  by  the  familiar  fireplace  he  sat,  when  the 
shadows  were  playing  among  his  beloved  books,  com 
muning  with  the  beautiful  past.  What  unwritten  poems 
of  pathos  and  sweetness  may  have  ministered  to  his 
great  soul  we  cannot  know.  In  18!K)  a  fatal  disease 
came  upon  him,  and  after  long  and  heroic  endurance  of 
pain  he  died,  August  12,  1891,  and  under  the  trees  of 
Mt.  Auburn  he  rests,  as  in  life  still  near  his  great  neigh 
bor  Longfellow.  In  a  memorial  poem  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes  spoke  for  the  thousands  who  mourned: 


INTRODUCTION  19 

"  Peace  to  thy  slumber  in  the  forest  shade, 
Poet  and  patriot,  every  gift  was  thine; 
Thy  name  shall  live  while  summers  bloom  and  fade 
And  grateful  memory  guard  thy  leafy  shrine." 

Lowell's  rich  and  varied  personality  presents  a  type 
of  cultured  manhood  that  is  the  finest  product  of  Amer 
ican  democracy.  The  largeness  of  his  interests  and  the 
versatility  of  his  intellectual  powers  give  him  a  unique 
eminence  among  American  authors.  His  genius  was 
undoubtedly  embarrassed  by  the  diffusive  tendency  of 
his  interests.  He  might  have  been  a  greater  poet  had 
he  been  less  the  reformer  and  statesman,  and  his  creative 
impulses  were  often  absorbed  in  the  mere  enjoyment  of 
exercising  his  critical  faculty.  Although  he  achieved 
only  a  qualified  eminence  as  poet,  or  as  prose  writer,  yet 
because  of  the  breadth  and  variety  of  his  permanent 
achievement  he  must  be  regarded  as  our  greatest  man 
of  letters.  His  sympathetic  interest,  always  outflowing 
toward  concrete  humanity,  was  a  quality — 

"  \\ith  such  large  range  as  from  the  ale-house  bench 
Can  reach  the  stars  and  be  with  both  at  home." 

With  marvelous  versatility  and  equal  ease  he  could  talk 
with  the  down-east  farmer  and  salty  seamen  and  ex 
change  elegant  compliments  with  old  world  royalty.  In 
The  Cathedral  he  says  significantly: 

"  I  thank  benignant  nature  most  for  this,  — 
A  force  of  sympathy,  or  call  it  lack 
Of  character  firm-planted,  loosing  me 
From  the  pent  chamber  of  habitual  self 
To  dwell  enlarged  in  alien  modes  of  thought, 
Haply  distasteful,  wholesomer  for  that, 
And  through  imagination  to  possess, 
As  they  were  mine,  the  lives  of  other  men." 


20  INTRODUCTION 

In  the  delightful  little  poem,  The  Nightingale  in  the. 
Study,  we  have  a  fanciful  expression  of  the  conflict  be 
tween  Lowell's  love  of  books  and  love  of  nature.  His 
friend  the  eatbird  calls  him  "out  beneath  the  unmas- 
tcred  sky,"  where  the  buttercups  "brim  with  wine  beyond 
all  Lesbian  juice."  But  there  are  ampler  skies,  he  an 
swers,  "in  Fancy's  land,"  and  the  singers  though  dead 

so  long  — • 

"  Give  its  best  sweetness  to  all  song, 

To  nature's  self  her  better  glory." 

His  love  of  reading  is  manifest  in  all  his  work,  giving  to 
his  style  a  bookishncss  that  is  sometimes  excessive  and 
often  troublesome.  His  expression,  though  generally 
direct  :ind  clear,  and  happily  colored  by  personal  frank 
ness,  is  often  burdened  with  learning.  To  be  able  to 
read  his  essays  with  full  appreciation  is  in  itself  evidence 
of  a  liberal  education.  His  scholarship  was  broad  and 
profound,  but  it  was  not,  scholarship  in  the  (lennan 
sense,  exhaustive  and  exhausting.  He  studied  for  the 
joy  of  knowing,  never  for  the  purpose  of  being  known, 
and  he  cared  more  to  know  the  spirit  and  meaning  of 
things  than  to  know  their  causes  and  origins.  A  lan 
guage  he  learned  for  the  sake  of  its  literature  rather  than 
its  philology.  As  Mr.  Browncll  observes,  he  shows  little 
interest  in  the  large  movements  of  the  world's  history. 
He  seemed  to  prefer  history  as  sublimated  in  the  poet's 
song.  The  field  of  belles-lettres  was  his  native  province; 
its  atmosphere  was  most  congenial  to  his  tastes.  In 
book-land  it  was  always  June  for  him  — 

"  Springtime   ne'er  denied 
Indoors  by  vernal  Chaucer,  whose  fresh  woods 
Throb  thick  with  merle  and  mavis  all  the  year." 

But  books  could  never  divert  his  soul  from  its  early 
endearments  with  out-of-door  nature.  "The  older  I 


INTRODUCTION  21 

grow,"  he  says,  "the  more  I  am  convinced  that  there 
are  no  satisfactions  so  deep  and  so  permanent  as  our 
sympathies  with  outward  nature."  And  in  the  preface 
to  My  <S7 «<///  Windows  he  speaks  of  himself  as  "one  who 
ha-* always  found  his  most  fruitful  study  in  the  open 
air."  The  most  charming  element  of  his  poetry  is  the 
nature  element  that  everywhere  cheers  and  stimulates 
the  reader.  It  is  full  of  sunshine  and  bird  music.  So 
genuine,  spontaneous  and  sympathetic  are  his  descrip 
tions  that  we  feel  the  very  heart  throbs  of  nature  in  his 
verse,  and  in  the  prose  of  such  records  of  intimacies  with 
outdoor  friends  as  the  essay,  My  Garden  Acquaintance. 
"How  I  do  love  the  earth,"  lie  exclaims.  "I  feel  it 
thrill  under  my  feet.  I  feel  somehow  as  if  it  were  con 
scious  of  my  love,  as  if  something  passed  into  my 
dancing  blood  from  it."  It  is  this  sensitive  nearness 
to  nature  that  makes  him  a  better  interpreter  of  her 
''visible  forms"  than  Bryant  even;  moreover,  unlike 
Bryant  he  always  catches  the  notes  of  joy  in  nature's 
voices  and  feels  the  uplift  of  a  happy  inspiration. 

In  the  presence  of  the  immense  popularity  of  Mark 
Twain,  it  may  seem  paradoxical  to  call  Lowell  our  great 
est  American  humorist.  Yet  in  the  refined  and  artistic 
qualities  of  humorous  writing  and  in  the  genuineness  of 
the  native  flavor  his  work  is  certainly  superior  to  any 
other  humorous  writing  that  is  likely  to  compete  with  it 
for  permanent  interest.  Indeed,  Mr.  ( Ireenslet  thinks 
that  "it  is  as  the  author  of  the  Iii(/l<nr  /\//>rr.x  that  lie  is 
likely  to  be  longest  remembered."  The  perpetual  play 
of  humor  gave  to  his  work,  even  to  the  last,  the  freshness 
of  youth.  We  love  him  for  his  boyish  love  of  pure  fun. 
The  two  large  volumes  of  his  Letters  are  delicious  reading 
because  he  put  into  them  "good  wholesome  nonsense," 
as  he  says,  "keeping  my  seriousness  to  bore  myself 
with." 

But  this  sparkling  and  overflowing  humor  never  ob- 


22  INTRODUCTION 

scures  the  deep  seriousness  that  is  the  undercurrent  of 
all  his  writing.  A  high  idealism  characterizes  all  his 
work.  One  of  his  greatest  services  to  his  country  was 
the  effort  to  create  a  saner  and  sounder  political  life. 
As  he  himself  realized,  he  often  moralized  his  work  too 
much  with  a  purposeful  idealism.  In  middle  life  he  said, 
"I  shall  never  be  a  poet  until  I  get  out  of  the  pulpit,  and 
New  England  was  all  meeting-house  when  I  was  growing 
up."  In  religion  and  philosophy  he  was  conservative, 
deprecating  the  radical  and  scientific  tendencies  of  the 
age,  with  its  knife  and  glass  — 

"  That  make  thought  physical  ?,nd  thrust  far  off 
The  Heaven,  so  neighborly  with  man  of  old." 

The  moral  impulse  and  the  poetic  impulse  were  often 
in  conflict,  ami  much  of  his  early  poetry  for  this  reason 
was  condemned  by  his  later  judgment.  His  maturer 
poems  are  filled  with  deep-thoughted  lines,  phrases  of 
high  aspiration  and  soul-stirring  ecstasies.  Though  his 
thought  is  spiritual  and  ideal,  it  is  always  firmly  rooted 
in  the  experience  of  common  humanity.  All  can  climb 
the  heights  with  him  and  catch  inspiring  glimpses  at 
least  of  the  ideal  and  the  infinite. 

CRTTK 'AT,    A1TRKOT ATTONS 

"TiiE  proportion  of  his  poetry  that  can  be  so  called 
is  small.  But  a  great  deal  of  it  is  very  fine,  very  noble, 
and  at  times  very  beautiful,  and  it,  discloses  the  dis 
tinctly  poetic  faculty  of  which  rhythmic  and  figurative; 
is  native  expression.  It  is  impressionable  rather  than 
imaginative  in  the  large  sense;  it  is  felicitous  in  detail 
rather  than  in  design;  and  of  a  general  rather  than  indi 
vidual,  a  representative  rather  than  original,  inspiration. 
There  is  a  field  of  poetry,  assuredly  not  the  highest,  but 


INTRODUCTION  23 

ample  and  admirable  —  in  which  these  qualities,  more  or 
less  unsatisfactory  in  prose,  are  legitimately  and  fruit- 
rally  exercised.  All  poetry  is  in  the  realm  of  feeling,  and 
thus  less  exclusively  dependent  on  the  thought  that  is 
tlxwole  reliance  of  prose.  Being  genuine  poetry,  Lowell's 
profits  by  this  advantage.  Feeling  is  fitly,  genuinely, 
its  inspiration.  Its  range  and  limitations  correspond  to 
the  character  of  his  susceptibility,  as  those  of  his  prose 
do  to  that  of  his  thought.  The  fusion  of  the  two  in  the 
crucible  of  the  imagination  is  infrequent  with  him,  be 
cause  with  him  it  is  the  fancy  rather  than  the  imagina 
tion  that  is  luxuriant  and  highly  developed.  For  the 
architectonics  of  poetry  he  had  not  the  requisite  reach 
and  grasp,  the  comprehensive  and  constructing  vision. 
Nothing  of  his  has  any  large  design  or  effective  inter 
dependent  proportions.  In  a  technical  way  an  exception 
should  be  noted  in  his  skilful  building  of  the  ode  —  a 
form  in  which  he  was  extremely  successful  and  for  which 
he  evidently  had  a  native  aptitude.  .  .  .  Lowell's  consti 
tutes,  on  the  whole,  the  most  admirable  American  contribu 
tion  to  the  nat  ure  poetry  of  English  literature  —  far  beyond 
that  of  Bryant,  Whit  tier,  or  Longfellow,  I  think,  and  only 
occasionally  excelled  here  and  there  by  the  magic  touch 
of  Emerson."  -—  W.  C.  Broicndl,  in  Scribncr's  Magazine, 
February,  1907. 

"Lowell  is  a  poet  who  seems  to  represent  New  England 
more  variously  than  either  of  his  comrades.  We  find 
in  his  work,  as  in  theirs,  her  loyalty  and  moral  purpose. 
She  has  been  at  cost  for  his  training,  and  he  in  turn  has 
read  her  heart,  honoring  her  as  a  mother  before  the 
world,  and  seeing  beauty  in  her  common  garb  and  speech. 
...  If  Lowell  be  not  first  of  all  an  original  genius,  I 
know  not  where  to  look  for  one.  Judged  by  his  personal 
bearing,  who  is  brighter,  more  persuasive,  more  equal 
to  the  occasion  than  himself,  —  less  open  to  Doudan's 


24  INTRODUCTION 

stricture  upon  writers  who  hoard  and  store  up  their 
thoughts  for  the  betterment  of  their  printed  works? 
Lowell's  treasury  can  stand  the  drafts  of  both  speech  and 
composition.  Judged  by  his  works,  as  a  poet  in  Ihe  end 
must  be,  he  is  one  who  might  gain  by  revision  and  com 
pression.  But  think,  as  is  his  due,  upon  the  high-water 
marks  of  his  abundant  tide,  and  see  how  enviable  the 
record  of  a  poet  who  is  our  most  brilliant  and  learned 
critic,  and  who  has  given  us  our  best  native  idyll,  our 
best  and  most  complete  work  in  dialectic  verse,  and  the 
noblest  heroic  ode  that  America  has  produced  —  each 
and  all  ranking  with  the  first  of  their  kinds  in  English 
literature  of  the  modem  time."  —  Edmund  Clarence 
Stcdman. 

As  a  racy  humorist  and  a  brilliant  wit  using  verse  as 
an  instrument  of  expression,  he  has  no  clear  superior, 
probably  no  equal,  so  far  at  least  as  American  readers 
arc  concerned,  among  writers  who  have  employed 
the  English  language.  As  a  satirist  he  has  superiors, 
but  scarcely  as  an  inventor  of  jcux  d  'esprit.  As  a  patriotic 
lyrist  he  has  few  equals  and  very  few  superiors  in  what 
is  probably  the  highest  function  of  such  a  poet  —  that 
of  stimulating  to  a  noble  height  the  national  instincts  of 
his  countrymen.  .  .  .  The  rest  of  his  poetry  may  fairly 
be  said  to  gain  on  that  of  any  of  his  American  contempo 
raries  save  Poe  in  more  sensuous  rhythm,  in  choicer 
diction,  in  a  more  refined  and  subtilized  imagination,  and 
in  a  deeper,  a  more  brooding  intelligence."  •—  Pro/. 
William  P.  Trent. 

"  In  originality,  in  virility,  in  many-sidedness,  Low 
ell  is  the  first  of  American  poets.  He  not  only  pos 
sessed,  at  times  in  nearly  equal  measure,  many  of  the 
qualities  most  notable  in  his  fellow-poets,  rivaling  Bry 
ant  as  a  painter  of  nature,  and  Holmes  in  pathos,  having 


INTRODUCTION  25 

a  touch  too  of  Emerson's  transcendentalism,  and  rising 
occasionally  to  Whittier's  moral  fervor,  but  he  brought  to 
all  this  much  beside.  In  one  vein  he  produced  such  a 
masterpiece  of  mingled  pathos  and  nature  painting  as 
we  Snd  in  the  tenth  Biglow  letter  of  the  second  series; 
in  another,  such  a  lyric  gem  as  The  Fountain;  in  another, 
The  Firxt  Know-Fall  and  After  the  Burial;  in  another, 
again,  the  noble  Harvard  Commemoration  Ode.  .  .  .  He 
had  plainly  a  most  defective  ear  for  rhythm  and  verbal 
harmony.  Except  when  he  confines  himself  to  simple 
metres,  we  rarely  find  five  consecutive  lines  which  do 
not  in  some  way  jar  on  us.  His  blank  verse  and  the  ir 
regular  metres  which  he,  unfortunately,  so  often  employs, 
have  little  or  no  music,  and  are  often  quite  intolerable. 
But  after  all  the  deductions  which  the  most  exacting 
criticism  can  make,  it  still  remains  that,  as  a  serious 
poet  Lowell  stands  high.  As  a  painter  of  nature,  he 
has,  when  at  his  best,  few  superiors,  and,  in  his  own 
country,  none.  Whatever  be  their  esthetic  and  tech 
nical  deficiencies,  he  has  written  many  poems  of  senti 
ment  and  pathos  which  can  never  fail  to  come  home  to 
all  to  whom  such  poetry  appeals.  His  hortatory  and 
didactic  poetry,  as  it  expresses  itself  in  the  Commemora 
tion  Ode,  is  worthy,  if  not  of  the  music  and  felicity  of 
Milton  and  Wordsworth,  at  least  of  their  tone,  when 
that  tone  is  most  exalted.  As  a  humorist  he  is  inimitable. 
His  humor  is  rooted  in  a  fine  sense  of  the  becoming,  and 
in  a  profounder  insight  into  the  character  of  his  country 
men  than  that  of  any  other  American  writer."  —  John 
Churton  Collins. 

"He  was  a  brilliant  wit  and  a  delightful  humorist; 
a  discursive  essayist  of  unfailing  charm ;  the  best  Amer 
ican  critic  of  his  time;  a  scholar  of  wide  learning,  deep 
also  when  his  interest  was  most  engaged ;  a  powerful 
writer  on  great  public  questions;  a  patriot  passionately 
pure;  but  first,  last,  and  always  he  was  a  poet,  never  so 


26  INTRODUCTION 

happy  as  when  he  was  looking  at  the  world  from  (he 
poet's  mount  of  vision  and  seeking  for  fit  words  and 
musical  to  tell  what  he  had  seen.  .But  his  emotion  was 
not  sufficiently  'recollected  in  tranquillity.'  Had  he 
been  more  an  artist  he  would  have  been  a  better  poet, 
for  then  he  would  have  challenged  the  invasions  of  his 
literary  memory,  his  humor,  his  animal  spirits,  within 
limits  where  they  had  no  right  of  way.  If  his  humor 
was  his  rarest,  it  was  his  most  dangerous  gift;  so  often 
did  it  tempt  him  to  laugh  out  in  some  holy  place.  .  .  . 
Less  charming  than  Longfellow,  less  homely  than  Whit- 
tier,  less  artistic  than  Holmes,  less  grave  than  Bryant, 
less  vivid  than  Emerson,  less  unique  than  Poe,  his  qual 
ities,  intellectual,  moral  and  esthetic,  in  their  assem 
blage  and  coordination  assign  him  to  a  place  among 
American  men  of  letters  which  is  only  a  little  lower  than 
that  which  is  Emerson's  and  his  alone."  —  John  White 
Chadwick. 

THE   VISION    OF   SIR   LAUNFAL 

EARLY  in  1848  in  a  letter  to  his  friend  Briggs,  Lowell 
speaks  of  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal  as  "a  sort  of  story, 
and  more  likely  to  be  popular  than  what  I  write  gener 
ally.  Maria  thinks  very  highly  of  it."  And  in  another 
letter  he  calls  it  "a  little  narrative  poem."  In  Decem 
ber,  1848,  it  was  published  in  a  thin  volume  alone,  and 
at  once  justified  the  poet's  expectations  of  popularity. 
The  poem  was  an  improvisation,  like  that  of  his  "musing 
organist,"  for  it  was  written,  we  are  told,  almost  at  a 
single  sitting,  entirely  within  two  days.  The  theme  may 
have  been  suggested  by  Tennyson's  Sir  Galahad,  but  his 
familiarity  with  the  old  romances  and  his  love  of  the 
mystical  and  symbolic  sense  of  these  good  old-time  tales 
were  a  quite  ample  source  for  such  suggestion.  More 
over  Lowell  in  his  early  years  was  much  given  to  seeing 


INTRODUCTION  27 

visions  and  dreaming  dreams.  "During  that  part  of 
my  life,"  he  says,  "which  I  lived  most  alone,  I  was  never 
a  single  night  unvisited  by  visions,  and  once  I  thought 
I  had  a  personal  revelation  from  God  Himself."  The 
Fnii'fe,  Queen,  was  "the  first  poem  I  ever  read,"  he  says, 
and  the  bosky  glades  of  Klmwood  were  often  trans 
formed  into  an  enchanted  forest  where  the  Knight  of 
the  Red  Cross,  and  Una  and  others  in  medieval  costume 
passed  up  and  down  before  his  wondering  eyes.  This 
medieval  romanticism  was  a  perfectly  natural  accom 
paniment  of  his  intense  idealism. 

The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal  and  the  Fable  /or  Critics, 
published  in  the  same  year,  illustrate  the  two  dominant 
and  strikingly  contrasted  qualities  of  his  nature,  a  con 
trast  of  opposites  which  he  himself  clearly  perceived. 
"I  find  myself  very  curiously  compounded  of  two  utterly 
distinct  characters.  One  half  of  me  is  clear  mystic  and 
enthusiast,  and  the  other,  humorist,"  and  he  adds  that 
"it  would  have  taken  very  little  to  have  made  a  Saint 
Francis"  of  him.  It  was  the  Saint  Francis  of  New  Kng- 
land,  the  moral  and  spiritual  enthusiast  in  Lowell's 
nature  that  produced  the  poem  and  gave  it  power.  Thus 
\ve  see  that  notwithstanding  its  antique  style  and  arti 
ficial  structure,  it  was  a  perfectly  direct  and  spontaneous 
e\l I'vssion  of  himself. 

The  allegory  of  the  Vision  is  easily  interpreted,  in  its 
main  significance.  There  is  nothing  original  in  the  les 
son,  the  humility  of  true  charity,  and  it  is  a  common 
criticism  that  the  moral  purpose;  of  the  poem  is  lost 
sight  of  in  the  beautiful  nature  pictures.  But  a  knowl 
edge  of  the  events  which  were  commanding  Lowell's 
attention  at  this  time  and  quickening  his  native  feelings 
into  purposeful  utterance  gives  to  the  poem  a  much 
deeper  significance.  In  1844,  when  the  discussion  over 
the  annexation  of  Texas  was  going  on,  he  wrote  The 
Present  Crisis,  a  noble  appeal  to  his  countrymen  to  im- 


28  INTRODUCTION 

prove  and  elevate  their  principles.  During  the  next 
four  years  he  was  writing  editorially  for  the  Standard,  the 
official  organ  of  the  Anti-Slavery  Society,  at  the  same 
time  he  was  bringing  out  the  Biulow  Papers.  In  all 
these  forms  of  expression  he  voiced  constantly  the  sen 
timent  of  reform,  which  now  filled  his  heart  like  a  holy 
zeal.  The  national  disgrace  of  slavery  rested  heavily 
upon  his  soul.  He  burned  with  the  desire  to  make  (Jod's 
justice  prevail  where  man's  justice  had  failed.  In  1846 
he  said  in  a  letter,  "It  seems  as  if  my  heart  would  break 
in  pouring  out  one  glorious  song  that  should  be  the  gos 
pel  of  Reform,  full  of  consolation  and  strength  to  the 
oppressed,  yet  falling  gently  and  restoringly  as  dew  on 
the  withered  youth-flowers  of  the  oppressor.  That 
way  rny  madness  lies,  if  any."  This  passionate  yearning 
for  reform  is  embodied  poetically  in  the  Vision.  In  a 
broad  sense,  therefore,  the  poem  is  an  expression  of 
ideal  democracy,  in  which  equality,  sympathy,  and  a 
sense  of  the  common  brotherhood  of  man  are  the  basis 
of  all  ethical  actions  and  standards.  It  is  the  (Christ- 
like  conception  of  human  society  that  is  always  so  allur 
ing  in  tin1  poetry  and  so  discouraging  in  the  prose  of  life. 
The  following  explanation  appeared  in  the  early  edi 
tions  of  the  poem  as  an  introductory  note: 

"  According  to  the  mythology  of  the  Romancers,  the  San 
Greal,  or  Holy  Grail,  was  the  oil])  out  of  \\hich  Jesus  Christ 
partook  of  the  last  supper  with  his  disciples.  It  was  brought 
into  England  by  Joseph  of  Arimathea,,  and  remained  there, 
an  object  of  pilgrimage  and  adoration,  for  many  years  in  the 
keeping  of  his  lineal  descendants.  It  was  incumbent  upon 
those  who  had  charge  of  it  to  be  chaste  in  thought,  word, 
and  deed;  but,  one  of  the  keepers  having  broken  this  condi 
tion,  the  Holy  Grail  disappeared.  From  that  time  it  was  a 
favorite  enterprise  of  the  Knights  of  Arthur's  court  to  go  in 
search  of  it.  Sin  Galahad  was  at  last  successful  in  finding 


INTRODUCTION  29 

it,  as  may  bo  read  in  the  seventeenth  book  of  the  Romance 
of  King  Arthur.  Tennyson  has  made  Sir  Galahad  the  sub 
ject  of  one  of  the  most  exquisite  of  his  poems. 

"  The  plot  (if  I  may  give  that  name  to  anything  so  slight) 
of  tli*1  following  poem  is  my  own,  and,  to  serve  its  purposes, 
I  have  enlarged  the  circle  of  competition  in  search  of  the 
miraculous  cup  in  such  a  manner  as  to  include  not  only 
other  persons  than  the  heroes  of  the  Round  Table,  but  also 
a  period  of  time  subsequent  to  the  date  of  King  Arthur's 
reign." 

In  the  last  sentence  there  is  a  sly  suggestion  of  Lowell's 
playfulness.  Of  course  every  one  may  compete  in  the 
search  for  the  (Irail,  and  the  "time  subsequent  to  King 
Arthur's  reign"  includes  the  present  time.  The  Ro 
mance  of  King  Arthur  is  the  Marie  Do rthur  of  Sir  Thomas 
Malorv.  Lowell's  specific  indebtedness  to  the  medieval 
romances  extended  only  to  the  use  of  the  symbol  of  con 
secration  to  some  noble  purpose  in  the  search  for  the 
(irail,  and  to  the  name  of  his  hero.  It  is  a  free  version 
of  older  French  romances  belonging  to  the  Arthurian 
cycle.  Sir  Lditnfdl  is  the  title  of  a  poem  written  by  Sir 
Thomas  Chest  re  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VI,  which  may 
be  found  in  Ritson's  Ancient  Eiujlish  Metrical  Romances. 
There  is  nothing  suggestive  of  Lowell's  poem  except 
the  quality  of  generosity  in  the  hero,  who — • 

"  gaf  gyftys  largclyche, 
Gold  and  sylver;  and  clodes  ryche, 
To  squyer  and  to  knight." 

One  of  Lowell's  earlier  poems,  The  Search,  contains 
the  germ  of  The  Vision  of  Sir  Lminfal.  It  represents  a 
search  for  Christ,  first  in  nature's  fair  woods  and  fields, 
then  in  the  "proud  world"  amid  "power  and  wealth," 
and  the  search  finally  ends  in  "a  hovel  rude"  where  — 


30  INTRODUCTION 

"The  Kins  I  sought  for  meekly  stood; 

A  naked,  hungry  child 

Clung  round  his  gracious  knee, 
And  a  poor  hunted  slave  looked  up  and  smiled 
To  bless  the  smile  that  set  him  free." 

And  Christ,  the  seeker  learns,  is  not  to  be  found  by  wan 
dering  through  the  world. 

ills  throne  is  with  the  outcast  and  the  weak." 

A  similar  fancy  also  is  embodied  in  a  little  poem  en 
titled  A  Parable.  Christ  goes  through  the  world  to  see 
"How  the  men,  my  brethren,  believe  in  me,"  and  he 
finds  "in  church,  and  palace,  and  judgment-hall,"  a 
disregard  for  the  primary  principles  of  his  teaching. 

"  Have,  ye  founded  your  throne  and  altars,  then, 
On  the  bodies  and  souls  of  living  men? 
And   think  ye  that  building  shall  endure, 
Which  shelters  the  noble  and  crushes  the  poor?  " 

These  early  poems  and  passages  in  others  written  at 
about  the  same  time,  taken  in  connection  with  the  Yixitm, 
show  how  strongly  the  theme  had  seized  upon  Lowell's 
mind. 

The  structure  of  the  poem  is  complicated  and  some 
times  confusing.  At  the  outset  the  student  must  no 
tice  that  there  is  a  story  within  a  story.  The  action  of 
the  major  story  covers  only  a  single  night,  and  the  hero 
of  this  story  is  the  real  Sir  Launfal,  who  in  his  sleep  dreams 
the  minor  story,  the  Vision.  The  action  of  this  story 
covers  the  lifetime  of  the  hero,  the,  imaginary  Sir  Laun 
fal,  from  early  manhood  to  old  age,  and  includes  his 
wanderings  in  distant  lands.  The  poem  is  constructed 
on  the  principles  of  contrast  and  parallelism.  By  hold 
ing  to  this  method  of  structure  throughout  Lowell  sacri 
ficed  the  important  artistic  element  of  unity,  especially 


INTRODUCTION  31 

in  breaking  the  narrative  with  the  Prelude  to  the  second 
part.  The  first  Prelude  describing  the  beauty  and  in 
spiring  joy  of  spring,  typifying  the  buoyant  youth  and 
aspiring  soul  of  Sir  Launfal,  corresponds  to  the  second 
Prelitfle,  describing  the  bleakness  and  desolation  of 
winter,  typifying  the  old  age  and  desolated  life  of  the 
hero.  But  beneath  the  surface  of  this  wintry  age  there 
is  a  new  soul  of  summer  beauty,  the  warm  love  of  suffer 
ing  humanity,  just  as  beneath  the  surface  of  the  frozen 
brook  there  is  an  ice-palace  of  summer  beauty.  In 
Part  First  the  gloomy  castle  with  its  joyless  interior 
stands  as  the  only  cold  and  forbidding  thing  in  the  land 
scape  /'like  an  outpost  of  winter;"  so  in  Part  Second  the 
same  castle  with  Christmas  joys  within  is  the  only  bright 
and  gladsome  object  in  the  landscape.  In  Part  First 
the  castle  gates  never  "might  opened  be";  in  Part 
Second  the  "castle  gates  stand  open  now."  And  thus 
the  student  may  find  various  details  contrasted  and  par 
alleled.  The  symbolic  meaning  must  be;  kept  constantly 
in  mind,  or  it  will  escape  unobserved;  for  example,  the 
cost  of  earthly  things  in  comparison  with  the  generosity 
of  June  corresponds  to  the  churlish  castle  opposed  to 
the  inviting  warmth  of  summer;  and  each  symbolizes 
the  proud,  selfish,  misguided  heart  of  Sir  Launfal  in 
youth,  in  comparison  with  the  humility  and  large  Chris 
tian  charity  in  old  age.  The  student  should  search  for 
these  symbolic  hints,  passages  in  which  "more  is  meant 
than  meets  the  ear,"  but  if  he  does  not  find  all  that  the 
poet  may  or  may  not  have  intended  in  his  dreamy  design, 
there  need  be  no  detraction  from  the  enjoyment  of  the 
poem. 

Critical  judgment  upon  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal  is 
generally  severe  in  respect  to  its  structural  faults.  Mr. 
(Ireenslet  declares  that  "through  half  a  century,  nine 
readers  out  of  ten  have  mistaken  Lowell's  meaning," 
even  the  "numerous  commentators"  have  "interpreted 


32  INTRODUCTION 

the  poem  as  if  the  young  knight  actually  adventured 
the  quest  and  returned  from  it  at  the  end  of  years,  broken 
and  old."  This,  however,  must  be  regarded  as  a  rather 
exaggerated  estimate  of  the  lack  of  unity  and  consistency 
in  the  poem.  Stedman  says:  "I  think  that  The  Vision 
of  Sir  Launfal  owed  its  success  quite  as  much  to  a  pres 
entation  of  nature  as  to  its  misty  legend.  It  really  is  a 
landscape  poem,  of  which  the  lovely  passage,  'And  what 
is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June?'  and  the  wintry  prelude  to 
Part  Second,  are  the  specific  features."  And  the  Kng- 
lish  critic,  J.  Churton  Collins,  thinks  that  "Sir  Launfal, 
except  for  the  beautiful  nature  pictures,  scarcely  rises 
above  the  level  of  an  Ingoldsby  Legend." 

The  popular  judgment  of  the  poem  (which  after  all  is 
the  important  judgment)  is  fairly  stated  by  Mr.  Greens- 
let:  "There  is  probably  no  poem  in  American  literature 
\n  which  a  visionary  faculty  like  that  [of  Lowell]  is  ex 
pressed  with  such  a  firm  command  of  poetic  background 
and  variety  of  music  as  in  Sir  Launfal  ...  its  structure 
is  far  from  perfect ;  yet  for  all  that  it  has  stood  the  search 
ing  test  of  time;  it  is  beloved  now  by  thousands  of  young 
American  readers,  for  whom  it  has  been  a  first  initia 
tion  to  the  beauty  of  poetic  idealism." 

While  studying  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal  the  student 
should  be  made  familiar  with  Tennyson's  Sir  Galahad 
and  The  Holy  Grail,  and  the  libretto  of  Wagner's  Par 
sifal.  Also  Henry  A.  Abbey's  magnificent  series  of  mural 
paintings  in  the  Boston  Public  Library,  representing  the 
Quest  of  the  Holy  Grail,  may  be  utilized  in  the  Copley 
Prints.  If  possible  the  story  of  Sir  Galahad's  search 
for  the  Grail  in  the  seventeenth  book  of  Sir  Thomas 
Malory's  Morte  Darthur  should  be  read.  It  would  be 
well  also  to  read  Longfellow's  King  Robert  of  Sicily, 
which  to  some  extent  presents  a  likeness  of  motive  and 
treatment. 


INTRODUCTION  33 

THE  COMMEMORATION  ODE 

IN  April,  1SG5,  the  Civil  War  was  ended  and  peace  was 
declared.  On  July  21  Harvard  College  held  a  solemn 
servicfj  in  commemoration  of  her  ninety-three  sons  who 
had  been  killed  in  the  war.  Eight  of  these  fallen  young 
heroes  wore  of  Lowell's  own  kindred.  Personal  grief 
thus  added  intensity  to  the  deep  passion  of  his  utterance 
upon  this  great  occasion.  He  was  invited  to  give  a 
poem,  and  the  ode  which  he  presented  proved  to  be  the 
supreme  event  of  the  noble  service.  The  scene  is  thus 
described  by  Francis  II.  Underwood,  who  was  in  the 
audience: 

"The  services  took  place  in  the  open  air,  in  the  pres 
ence  of  a  great  assembly.  Prominent  among  the  speakers 
were:  Major-General  Meade,  the  hero  of  Gettysburg,  and 
Major-General  Devens.  The  wounds  of  the  war.  were 
still  fresh  and  bleeding,  and  the  interest  of  the  occasion 
was  deep  and  thrilling.  The  summer  afternoon  was 
drawing  to  i!s  close  when  the  poet  began  the  recital  of 
the  ode.  No  living  audience  could  for  the  first  time 
follow  with  intelligent  appreciation  the  delivery  of  such 
a  poem'.  To  be  sure,  it  had  its  obvious  strong  points 
and  its  sonorous  charms;  but,  like  all  the  later  poems  of 
the  author,  it  is  full  of  condensed  thought  and  requires 
study.  The  reader  to-day  finds  many  passages  whose 
force  and  beauty  escaped  him  during  the  recital,  but  the 
effect  of  the  poem  at  the  time  was  overpowering.  The 
face  of  the  poet,  always  singularly  expressive,  was  on 
this  occasion  almost  transfigured  —  glowing,  as  if  with 
an  inward  light.  It  was  impossible  to  look  away  from  it. 
Our  age  has  furnished  many  great  historic  scenes,  but 
this  Commemoration  combined  the  elements  of  grandeur 
and  pathos,  and  produced  an  impression  as  lasting  as 
life." 

Of  the  delivery  and  immediate  effect  of  the  poem  Mr. 


34  INTRODUCTION 

Greenslet  says:  "Some  in  the  audience  were  thrilled  and 
shaken  by  it,  as  Lowell  himself  was  shaken  in  its  deliv 
ery,  yet  he  seems  to  have  felt  with  some  reason  that  it 
was  not  a  complete  and  immediate  success.  Nor  is  this 
cause  for  wonder.  The  passion  of  the  poem  was  too 
ideal,  its  woven  harmonies  too  subtle  to  be  readily  com 
municated  to  so  large  an  audience,  mastered  and  mellowed 
though  it  was  by  a  single  deep  mood.  Nor  was  Lowell's 
elocution  quite  that  of  the  deep-mouthed  odist  capable 
of  interpreting  such  organ  tones  of  verse.  But  no  sooner 
was  the  poem  published,  with  the  matchless  Lincoln 
strophe  inserted,  than  its  greatness  and  nobility  were 
manifest." 

The  circumstances  connected  with  the  writing  of  the 
ode  have  been  described  by  Lowell  in  his  private  letters. 
It  appears  that  he  was  reluctant  to  undertake  the  task, 
and  for  several  weeks  his  mind  utterly  refused  to  respond 
to  the  high  duty  put  upon  it.  At  last  the  sublime  thought 
came  to  him  upon  the  swift  wings  of  inspiration.  "The 
ode  itself,"  he  says,  "was  an  improvisation.  Two  days 
before  the  commemoration  I  had  told  my  friend  Child 
that  it  was  impossible  —  that  I  was  dull  as  a  door-mat. 
But  the  next  day  something  gave  me  a  jog,  and  the 
whole  thing  came  out  of  me  with  a  rush.  I  sat  up  all 
night  writing  it  out  clear,  and  took  it  on  the  morning  of 
the  day  to  Child."  In  another  letter  he  says:  "The  poem 
was  written  with  a  vehement  speed,  which  I  thought  I 
had  lost  in  the  skirts  of  my  professor's  gown.  Till  with 
in  two  days  of  the  celebration  I  was  hopelessly  dumb, 
and  then  it  all  came  with  a  rush,  literally  making  me 
lean  (mi  fece  magro),  and  so  nervous  that  I  was  weeks 
in  getting  over  it."  In  a  note  in  Scudder's  biography 
of  Lowell  (Vol.  II.,  p.  fi.">),  it  is  stated  upon  the  author 
ity  of  Mrs.  Lowell  that  the  poem  was  begun  at  ten  o'clock 
the  night  before  the  commemoration  day,  and  finished 
at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  "She  opened  her  eyes 


INTRODUCTION  35 

to  see  him  standing  haggard,  actually  wasted  by  the 
stress  of  labor  and  the  excitement  which  had  carried  him 
through  a  poem  full  of  passion  and  fire,  of  five  hundred 
and  twenty-three  lines,  in  the  space  of  six  hours." 

'Critical  estimates  are  essentially  in  accord  as  to  the 
deep  significance  and  permanent  poetic  worth  of  this 
poem.  Clreenslet,  the  latest  biographer  of  Lowell,  says 
that  the  ode,  "if  not  his  most  perfect,  is  surely  his  no 
blest  and  most  splendid  work,"  and  adds:  "Until  the 
dream  of  human  brotherhood  is  forgotten,  the  echo  of 
its  large  music  will  not  wholly  die  away."  Professor 
Beers  declares  it  to  be,  "although  uneven,  one  of  the 
finest  occasional  poems  in  the  language,  and  the  most 
important  contribution  which  our  Civil  War  has  made  to 
song."  Of  its  exalted  patriotism,  ( leorge  William  Cur 
tis  says:  "The  patriotic  heart  of  America  throbs  forever 
in  Lincoln's  (iettysburg  address.'  But  nowhere  in  lit 
erature  is  there  a  more  magnificent  and  majestic  personi 
fication  of  a  country  whose  name  is  sacred  to  its  children, 
nowhere  a  profounder  passion  of  patriotic  loyally,  than 
in  the  closing  lines  of  the  Commemoration  Ode.  The 
American  whose  heart,  swayed  by  that  lofty  music, 
does  not  thrill  and  palpitate  with  solemn  joy  and  high 
resolve  does  not  yet  know  what  it  is  to  be  an  American.'*' 
With  the  praise  of  a  discriminating  criticism  Stedman 
discusses  the  ode  in  his  PwY.s  of  America:  "Another 
poet  would  have  composed  a  less  unequal,  ode ;  no  Amer 
ican  could  have  glorified  it  with  braver  passages,  with 
whiter  heat,  with  language  and  imagery  so  befitting  im 
passioned  thought.  Tried  by  the  rule  that  a  true  poet 
is  at  his  best  with  the  greatest  theme,  Lowell's  strength 
is  indisputable.  The  ode  is  no  smooth-cut  verse  from 
Pentelicus,  «but  a  mass  of  rugged  quartz,  beautiful  with 
prismatic  crystals,  and  deep  veined  here  and  there 
with  virgin  gold.  The  early  strophes,  though  opening 
with  a  fine  abrupt  line,  'weak-winged  is  song/  are  scarcely 


36  INTRODUCTION 

firm  and  incisive.  Lowell  had  to  work  up  to  his  theme. 
In  the  third  division,  'Many  loved  Truth,  and  lavished 
life's  best  oil,'  he  struck  upon  a  new  and  musical  intona 
tion  of  the  tenderest  thoughts.  The  quaver  of  this 
melodious  interlude  carries  the  ode  along,  until  the  great 
strophe  is  reached,  — 

'Such  was  he,  our  Martyr-Chief,' 

in  which  the  man,  Abraham  Lincoln,  whose  death  had 
but  just  closed  the  national  tragedy,  is  delineated  in  a 
manner  that  gives  this  poet  a  preeminence,  among  those 
who  capture  likeness  in  enduring  verse,  that  we  award 
to  Velasquez  among  those  who  fasten  it  upon  the  canvas. 
'One  of  Plutarch's  men'  is  before  us,  face  to  face;  an 
historic,  character  whom  Lowell  fully  comprehended, 
and  lo  whose  height  he  reached  in  this  great  strophe. 
Scarcely  le;;s  fine  is  his  fearful,  yet  transfiguring,  Avete 
to  the  sacred  dead  of  the  Commemoration.  The  weaker 
divisions  of  the  production  furnish  a  background  to  these 
passages,  and  at  the  close  the  poet  rises  with  the  invo 
cation,  — 

'Bow  down,  dear  Land,  for  thou  hast  found  release!' 

•a  strain  which  shows  that  when  Lowell  determinedly 
sets  his  mouth  to  the  trumpet,  the  blast  is  that  of 
lloncesvalles."  • 

W.  C.  Brownell,  the  latest  critic  of  Lowell's  poetry, 
says  of  this  poem:  "The  ode  is  too  long,  its  evolution 
is  defective,  it  contains  verbiage,  it  preaches.  But  pas 
sages  of  it  —  the  most  famous  having  characteristically 
been  interpolated  after  its  delivery  —  are  equal  to  any 
thing  of  the  kind.  The  temptation  to  quote  from  it  is 
hard  to  withstand.  It  is  the  cap-sheaf  of  Lowell's  achieve 
ment."  In  this  ode  "he  reaches,  if  he  does  not  through 
out  maintain,  his  own  ' clear-ethered  height'  and  his 


INTRODUCTION  3? 

verse  lias  the  elevation  of  ecstasy  and  the  splendor  of 
the  sublime." 

The  versification  of  this  poem  should  be  studied  with 
some  particularity.  Of  the  forms  of  lyric  expression  the 
ode  i$>  the  most  elaborate  and  dignified.  It  is  adapted 
only  to  lofty  themes  and  stately  occasions.  Great 
liberty  is  allowed  in  the  choice  and  arrangement  of  its 
meter,  rhymes,  and  stanzaic  forms,  that  its  varied  form 
and  movement  may  follow  the  changing  phases  of  the  sen 
timent  and  passion  called  forth  by  the  theme.  Lowell 
has  given  us  an  account  of  his  own  consideration  of 
this  matter.  "My  problem,"  he  says,  "was  to  con 
trive  a  measure  which  should  not  be  tedious  by  uniform 
ity,  which  should  vary  with  varying  moods,  in  which 
the  transitions  (including  those  of  the  voice)  should  bo 
managed  without  jar.  I  at  first  thought  of  mixed  rhymed 
and  blank  verses  of  unequal  measures,  like  those  in  the 
choruses  of  Samson  Agonistes,  which  are  in  the  main 
masterly.  Of  course,  Milton  deliberately  departed  from 
that  stricter  form  of  (!reek  chorus  to  which  it  was  bound 
quite  as  much  (I  suspect)  by  the  law  of  its  musical 
accompaniment  as  by  any  sense  of  symmetry.  I  wrote 
some  stanzas  of  the  Commemoration  (><}<•  on  this  theory 
at  first,  leaving  some  verses  without  a  rhyme  to  match. 
Hut  my  ear  was  better  pleased  when  the  rhyme,  comin? 
at  a  longer  interval,  as  a  far-off  echo  rather  than  instant 
reverberation,  produced  the  same  effect  almost,  and 
yet  was  gratified  by  unexpectedly  recalling  an  associa 
tion  and  faint  reminiscence  of  consonance."  • 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Horace  K.  Scudder:  James  Russell  Lowell:  A  Biography.  2 
vols.  The  standard  biography. 

Ferris  Greenslet:  James  Russell  Lowell:  His  Life  and  Work. 
The  latest  biography  (1905)  and  very  satisfactory. 

Francis  H.  Underwood:  James  Russell  Lov:ell:  A  Biograph 
ical  Sketch  and  Lowell  the  Poet  and  the  Man.  Interesting 
recollections  of  a  personal  friend  and  editorial  associate. 

Edward  Everett  Hale:  Lowell  and  His  Friends. 

Edward  Everett  Hale,  Jr.:  James  Russell  Lowell.  (Beacon 
Biographies.) 

Charles  Eliot  Norton:  Letters  of  James  Russell  Lowell.  2 
vols.  Invaluable  and  delightful. 

Edmund  Clarence  Stedman:  Poets  of  America. 

\\ .  C.  Brownell:  James  Russell  Lowell.  (Scribner's  Mag 
azine,  February,  1907.)  The  most  recent  critical  es 
timate. 

George  William  Curtis:  James  Russell  Lowell:  An  Address. 

John  Churton  Collins.  Studies  in  Poctr;/  an/1  (Criticism, 
"  Poetry  and  Poets  of  America."  Excellent  as  an 
English  estimate. 

Barrett  Wendell:  Literary  History  of  America  and  Stclligeri, 
"  Mr.  Lowell  as  a  Teacher." 

Henry  James:  Essays  in  London  and  Library  of  the  World's 
Best  Literature. 

George  E.  Woodborry:  Makers  of  Literature. 

William  Watson:  Excursions  in  Criticism. 

W.  D.  Howell.s:  Literary  Friends  and  Acquaintance. 

Charles  E.  Richardson:  American  Literature. 

M.  A.  DeWolfe  Howe:  American  Bookmen. 
C9 


40  BIIiLIOdRArilY 

Thomas  Wcntworth  Higginson:  Old  Cambridge. 

Frank  Preston  Stearns:  Cambridge  Sketches.     1905. 

Richard  Burton:  Literary  Leaders  of  America.     1901. 

Jolm  White  Chad  wick:  Chainbcrs's  Cyclopedia  of  English 
Literature. 

Hamilton  Wright  Mabie:  My  Study  Fire.  Second  Scries, 
"  Lowell's  Letters." 

Margaret  Fuller:  Art,  Literature  and  the  Drama.     1859. 

Richard  Henry  Stoddard:  Recollections,  Personal  and  Lit 
erary,  "  At  Lowell's  Fireside." 

Edwin  P.  Whipple:  Outlooks  on  Society,  Literature  and  Pol 
itics,  "  Lowell  as  a  Prose  W'riter." 

II.  R.  Hawcis:  American  Humorists. 

Bayard  Taylor:  Essays  and  Notes. 

G.  W.  Smalley:  London  Letters,  Vol.  I.,  "  Mr.  Lowell,  why 
the  English  liked  him." 

THE  POETS'  TRIBUTES  TO  LOWELL 

Longfellow's  Herons  of  Elmwood;  Whittier's  A  Welcome  to 
Lowell;  Holmes's  Farewell  to  Lowell,  At  a  Birthday  Festival 
and  To  James  Russell  Lowell;  Aldrich's  Elmwood;  Margaret 
J.  Preston's  Home-Welcome  to  Lowell;  Richard  Watson 
Gilder's  Lowell;  Christopher  P.  Cranch's  To  J.  R.  L.  on  I  Us 
Fiftieth  Birthday,  and  To  J.  R.  L.  on  His  Homeward  Voy 
age;  James  Kenneth  Stephen's  In  Mcmoriam;  James  Russell 
Lowell,  "  Lapsus  Calami  and  Other  Verses  "  ;  William  W. 
Story's  To  James  Russell  Lowell,  Blackwood's  Maga/irv\ 
Vol.  150;  Eugene  Field's  James  Russell  Lowell;  Edit!' 
Thomas's  On  Reading  Lowell's  "Heartsease  and  Rue." 


THE    VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

PRELUDE  TO  PART  FIRST 

OVER  his  keys  the  musing  organist, 

Beginning  doubtfully  and  far  away, 
First  lets  his  fingers  wander  as  they  list, 

And  builds  a  bridge  from  Dreamland  for  hie 

lay: 
•i      Th'Mi,  as  (he  touch  of  his  loved  instrument 

(ii  es  hope    and    fervor,    nearer    draws    his 

theme, 

First  guessed  by  faint  auroral  flushes  sent 
Along  the  wavering  vista  of  his  dream. 

Not  only  around  our  infancy 
10  Doth  heaven  with  all  its  splendors  lie, 

Daily,  with  souls  that  cringe  and  plot, 

We  Sinais  climb  and  know  it  not. 
41 


42  THE    VISION    OF  SIR    LAUNFAL 

Over  our  manhood  bend  the  skies; 

Against  our  fallen  and  traitor  lives 
15    The  great  winds  utter  prophecies; 

With  our  faint  hearts  the  mountain    strives; 
Its  arms  outstretched,  the  druid  wood 

Waits  with  its  benedicite; 
And  to  our  age's  drowsy  blood 
20        Still  shouts  the  inspiring  sea. 

Earth  gets  its  price  for  what  Earth  gives  us: 

The,  beggar  is  taxed  for  a  corner  to  die  in, 
The  priest  hath  his  fee  who  comes  and  shrives 

us, 

We  bargain  for  the  graves  we  lie  in ; 
25    At  the  Devil's  booth  are  all  things  sold, 
Each  ounce  of  dross  costs  its  ounce  of  gold, 

For  a  cap  and  bells  our  lives  we  pay, 
Bubbles  \ve  buy  with  a  whole  soul's  tasking 

'T  is  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 
30     'T  is  only  Go'd  may  be  had  for  the  asking; 
No  price  is  set  on  the  lavish  summer; 
June  may  be  had  by  the  poorest  comer. 

And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June? 
Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days; 


THE   VISION  OF  SIR   LAUNRAL  43 

35    Then  Heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 

And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays : 
Whether  we  look,  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur,  or  see  it  glisten-, 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 
40        An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 
Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers; 
The  flush  of  life  may  well  be  seen 

Thrilling  back  over  hills  and  valleys; 
45    The  cowslip  startles  in  meadows  green, 

The  buttercup  catches  the  sun  in  its  chal 
ice, 
And  there 's  never  a  leaf  nor  a  blade  too  mean 

To  be  some  happy  creature's  palace; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 
50        Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves, 
And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errim 

With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives; 
His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings, 
And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters  and 

sings; 

65    He  sings  to  the  wide  world,  and  she  to  her 
nest,  — 


44  THE   VISION  OF  SIR   LAUNFAL 

In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature  which  song  is  the 
best? 

Now  is  the  high-tide  of  the  year, 

And  whatever  of  life  hath  ebbed  away 
Comes  flooding  back,  with  a  ripply  cheer, 
60        Into  every  bare  inlet  and  creek  and  bay; 
Now  the  heart  is  so  full  that  a  drop  overfills  it, 
We  are  happy  now  because  God  wills  it; 
No  matter  how  barren  the  past  may  have  been, 
'T  is  enough  for  us  now  that  the  leaves  are 

green ; 

05    We  sit  in  the  warm  shade  and  feel  right  well 
How  the  sap  creeps  up  and  the  blossoms  swell , 
We  may  shut  our  eyes,  but  we  cannot  help 

knowing 

That  skies  are  clear  and  grass  is  growing, 
The  breeze  comes  whispering  in  our  ear 
70     That  dandelions  are  blossoming  near, 

That  maize  has  sprouted,  that  streams  are 

flowing, 

That  the  river  is  bluer  than  the  sky, 
That  the  robin  is  plastering  his  house  hard  by; 
And  if  the  breeze  kept  the  good  news  back, 


THE   VISION   OF  SIR   LAUNFAL  45 

75     For  other  couriers  we  should  not  lack; 

We  could  guess  it  all  by  yon  heifer's  low 
ing, - 

And  hark!  how  clear  bold  chanticleer, 
Warmed  with  the  new  wine  of  the  year, 
Tells  all  in  his  lusty  crowing! 

80    Joy  comes,  grief  goes,  we  know  not  how; 
Everything  is  happy  now, 

Everything  is  upward  si  riving; 
'T  is  as  easy  now  for  the  hear  I-  (o  be  true 
As  for  grass  to  be  green  or  skies  (o  be  blue,  - 
S5         'T  is  the  natural  way  of  living: 

Who  knows  whither  the  clouds  have  fled? 
In    the    unscarred    heaven    they    leave    no 

wake ; 
And  the  eyes  forget  the  tears  they  have  shed, . 

The  heart  forgets  its  sorrow  and  ache; 
90     The  soul  partakes  the  season's  youth, 

And  the  sjilphurous  rifts  of  passion  and  woe 
Lie  deep  'neath  a  silence  pure  and  smooth, 
Like  burnt-out  craters  healed  with  snow. 
What  wonder  if  Sir  Launfal  now 
95    Remembered  the  keeping  of  his  vow? 


46  THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

PART  FIRST 

i 

"My  golden  spurs  now  bring  to  me, 
And  bring  to  me  my  richest  mail, 
For  to-morrow  I  go  over  land  and  sea 

In  search  of  the  Holy  Grail; 
100  Shall  never  a  bed  for  me  be  spread, 
Nor  shall  a  pillow  be  under  my  head, 
Till  I  begin  my  vow  to  keep; 
Here  on  the  rushes  will  I  sleep, 
Arid  perchance  there  may  come  a  vision  true 
105  Ere  day  create  the  world  anew." 

Slowly  Sir  Launfal's  eyes  grew  dim, 
Slumber  fell  like  a  doir.!  on  him, 
And  into  his  soul  the  vision  flew. 

ii 

The  crows  flapped  over  by  twos  and  threes, 
110  In  the    pool  drowsed  the  cattle  up  to  their 

knees, 

The  little  birds  sang  as  if  it  wrere 
The  one  day  of  summer  in  all  the  year, 


THE    VISION   OF   SIR   LAUNFAL  47 

And  the  very  leaves  seemed  to  sing  on  the 
trees : 

The  castle  alone  in  the  landscape  lay 
115  fjke  an  outpost  of  winter,  dull  and  gray; 

'T  was  the  proudest  hall  in  the  North  Coun- 
tree, 

And  never  it.s  gates  might  opened  be, 

Save  to  lord  or  lady  of  high  degree; 

Summer  besieged  it  on  every  side, 
120  But  the  churlish  stone  her  assaults  defied; 

She  could  not  scale  the  chilly  wall, 

Though  around  it  for  leagues  her  pavilions  tall 

Stretched  left  and  right, 

Over  the  hills  and  out  of  sight; 
125       Green  and  broad  was  every  tent, 
And  out  of  each  a  murmur  went 

Till  the  breeze  fell  off  at  night. 

II' 

The  drawbridge  dropped  with  a  surly  clang, 
And  through  the  dark  arch  a  charger  sprang, 
1.30  Bearing  Sir  Launfal,  the  maiden  knight, 
In  his  gilded  mail,  that  flamed  so  bright 
It  seemed  the  dark  castle  had  gathered  all 


48  THE    VISION   OF  SIR    LAUNFAL 

Those  shafts  the  fierce  sun  had  shot  over  its 

wall 
In    his    siege    of    three    hundred    summers 

long, 
135  And,  binding  them  all  in  one  blazing  sheaf, 

Had  cast  them  forth:  so,  young  and  strong, 
And  lightsome  as  a  locust  leaf, 
Sir  Launfal  flashed  forth  in  his  maiden  mail, 
To  seek  in  all  climes  for  the  Holy  (Jiail. 

IV 

140  It  was  morning  on  hill  and  stream  and  tree, 

And  morning  in  the  young  knight's  heart; 
Only  the  castle  moodily 
Rebuffed  the  gifts  of  the  sunshine  free, 

And  gloomed  by  itself  apart; 
145  The  season  brimmed  all  other  things  up 

Full  as  the  rain  fills  the  pitcher-plant's  cup. 

v 

As  Sir  Launfal  made  morn  through  the  dark 
some  gate, 

He  was  'ware  of  a  leper,  crouched  by  the 
same, 


THE    VISION   OF   SIR   LAUNFAL  49 

Who  begged  with  his  hand  and  moaned  as  he 

sate; 
1.50      And  a  loathing  over  Sir  Laimfal  came, 

The  sunshine  went  out  of  his  soul  with  a  thrill, 
The  flesh  'neatli  his  armor  'gan  shrink  and 

crawl, 
And  midway  its  leap  his  heart  stood  still 

Like  a  frozen  waterfall ; 

155  For  this  man,  so  foul  and  bent  of  stature, 
Rasped  harshly  against  his  dainty  nature, 
And  seemed  the  one  blot  on  the  summer 

morn,  — 
So  he  tossed  him  a  piece  of  gold  in  scorn. 

VI 

The  leper  raised  not  the  gold  from  the  dust: 
"Better  to  me  the  poor  man's  crust, 
160  Better  the  blessing  of  the  poor, 

Though  I  turn  me  empty  from  his  door, 
That   is   no  true   alms  which  the   hand  can 

hold; 

He  gives  only  the  worthless  gold 
165      Who  gives  from  a  sense  of  duty; 
But  he  who  gives  a  slender  mite, 


50  THE    VISION   OF  SIR   LAUNFAL 

And  gives  to  that  which  is  out  of  sight, 

That  thread  of  the  all-sustaining  Beauty 
Which  runs  through  all  and  doth  all  unite,  —  • 
170  The  hand  cannot  clasp  the  whole  of  his  alms, 
The  heart  outstretches  its  eager  palms, 
For  a  god  goes  with  it  and  makes  it  store 
To  the  soul  that  was  starving  in  darkness  be 
fore." 


UDi']  TO  PART  SECOND 

Down  swept  the  chill  wind  from  the  moun 

tain  peak,, 

175       FroTTrtfaesnow  five  thousand  summers  old; 
On  open  wold  and  hill-top  bleak 

It  had  gathered  all  the  cold, 
And  whirled  it  like  sleet  on  the  wanderer's 

cheek  ; 

It  carried  a  shiver  everywhere 
180  From  the  unleafed  boughs  and  pastures  bare; 
The  little  brook-  heard  it  and  built  a  roof 
'Neath   which   he    could    house    him,   winter- 

proof; 

All  night  by  the  white  stars'  frosty  gleams 
He  groined  his  arches  and  matched  his  beams; 


THE    VISION   OF  SIR    LAUNFAL  51 

185  Slender  and  clear  were  his  crystal  spars 
As  the  lashes  of  light  that  trim  the  stars; 
He  sculptured  every  summer  delight 
In  his  halls  and  chambers  out  of  sight; 
Sometimes  his  tinkling  waters  slipt 

190  Down  through  a  frost-leaved  forest-crypt, 
Long,  sparkling  aisles  of  steel-stemmed  trees 
Bending  to  counterfeit  a  breeze ; 
Sometimes  the  roof  no  fretwork  knew 
But  silvery  mosses  that  downward  grew; 

195  Sometimes  it  was  carved  in  sharp  relief 
With  quaint  arabesques  of  ice-fern  leaf; 
Sometimes  it  was  simply  smooth  and  clear 
For  the  gladness  of  heaven  to  shine  through, 

and  here 
He  had  caught  the  nodding  bulrush-tops 

200  And  hung  them  thickly  with  diamond-drops, 
That  crystalled  the  beams  of  moon  and  sun, 
And  made  a  star  of  every  one : 
No  mortal  builder's  most  rare  device 
Could  match  this  winter-palace  of  ice; 

205  'T  was  as  if  every  image  that  mirrored  lay 
In  his  depths  serene  through  the  summer  day, 
Each  fleeting  shadow  of  earth  and  sky, 


52  THE    VISION   OF  SIR   LAUNFAL 

Lest  the  happy  model  should  be  lost, 
Had  been  mimicked  in  fairy  masonry 
210      By  the  elfin  builders  of  the  frost. 

Within  the  hall  are  song  and  laughter, 

The  cheeks  of  Christmas  glow  red  and  jolly, 
And  sprouting  is  every  corbel  and  rafter 

With  lightsome  green  of  ivy  and  holly; 
215  Through  the  deep  gulf  of  the  chimney  wide 
Wallows  the  Yule-log's  roaring  tide; 
The  broad  flame-pennons  droop  and  flap 

And  belly  and  tug  as  a  flag  in  the  wind; 
Like  a  locust  shrills  the  imprisoned  sap, 
220       Hunted  to  death  in  its  galleries  blind; 
And  swift  little  troops  of  silent  sparks, 

Now  pausing,   now  scattering  away  as  in 

fear, 
Go  threading  the  soot-forest's  tangled  darks 

Like  herds  of  startled  deer. 

225  But  the  wind  without  was  eager  and  sharp, 
Of  Sir  Launfal's  gray  hair  it  makes  a  harp, 
And  rattles  and  wrings 
The  icy  strings, 


THE    VISION   OF   SIR   LAUNFAL  53 

Singing,  in  dreary  monotone, 
230  A  Christmas  carol  of  its  own, 

Whose  burden  still,  as  lie  might  guess, 
Was  —  "Shelterless,  shelterless,  shelterless!" 

The  voice  of  the  seneschal  flared  like  a  torch 
As  he  shouted  the  wanderer  away  from  the 

porch, 

235  And  he  sat  in  the  gateway  and  saw  all  night 
The  great  hall-fire,  so  cheery  and  bold, 
Through  the  window-slits  of  the  castle  old, 
Build  out  its  piers  of  ruddy  light 
Against  the  drift  of  the  cold. 

PART  SECOND 

i 

240  There  was  never  a  leaf  on  bush  or  tree, 
The  bare  boughs  rattled  shudderingly; 
The  river  was  dumb  and  could  not  speak, 

For  the  weaver  Winter  its  shroud  had  spun, 
A  single  crow  on  the  tree-top  bleak 
245       From  his  shining  feathers  shed  off  the  cold 
sun; 


54  THE    VISION   OF  SIR   LAUNFAL 

Again  it  was  morning,  but  shrunk  and  cold, 
As  if  her  veins  were  sapless  and  old, 
And  she  rose  up  decrepitly 
For  a  last  dim  look  at  earth  and  sea. 

II 

250  Sir  Launfal  turned  from  his  own  hard  gate, 
For  another  heir  in  his  earldom  sate ; 
An  old,  bent  man,  worn  out  and  frail, 
He  came  back  from  seeking  the  Holy  Grail; 
Little  he  recked  of  his  earldom's  loss, 

255  No   more   on   his   surcoat   was   blazoned   the 

cross, 

But  deep  in  his  soul  the  sign  he  wore, 
The  badge  of  the  suffering  and  the  poor. 

TIT 

Sir  Launfal's  raiment  thin  and  spare 
Was  idle  mail  'gainst  the  barbed  air, 
260  For  it  was  just  at  the  Christmas  time; 
So  he  mused,  as  he  sat,  of  a  sunnier  clime, 
And  sought  for  a  shelter  from  cold  and  snow 
In  the  light  and  warmth  of  long  ago; 
He  sees  the  snake-like  caravan  crawl 


THE    VISION   OF  SIR    LAUNFAL  55 

2Wi  O'er  the  odgo  of  the  desert,  black  and  small, 
Then  nearer  and  nearer,  till,  one  by  one, 
He  can  count  (he  camels  in.  the  sun, 
*As  over  (he  red-hot  sands  they  pass 
To  where,  in  i(s  slender  necklace  of  grass, 

270  The  little  spring  laughed  and  leapt  in  the  shade, 
And  with  its  own  self  like  an  infant  played, 
And  waved  its  signal  of  palms. 

IV 

"For  Christ's  sweet  sake.  T  beg  an  alms;" 
The  happy  camels  may  reach  the  spring, 
275  But  Sir  Launfal  sees  only  the  grewsome  thing, 
The  leper,  lank  as  the  rain-blanched  bone, 
That  cowers  beside  him,  a  thing  as  lone 
And  white  as  the  ice-isles  of  Northern  seas 
In  the  desolate  horror  of  his  disease. 

v 

280  And  Sir  Launfal  said,  —  "I  behold  in  thee 
An  image  of  Him  who  died  on  the  tree; 
Thou  also  hast  had  thy  crown  of  thorns, 
Thou  also  hast  had  the  world's  buffets  and 
scorns,  — 


56  THE    VISION    OF   Silt    LAVNFAL 

And  to  thy  life  wore  not  denied 
285  The  wounds  in  the  hands  and  feet  and  side: 
Mild  Mary's  Son,  acknowledge  me; 
Behold,  through  him,  I  give  to  thce!" 

VI 

Then  the  soul  of  the  leper  stood  up  in  his  eyes 
And  looked  at  Sir  Launfal,  and  straightway 

he 
2(jO  Remembered  in  what  a  haughtier  guise 

He  had  flung  an  alms  to  leprosie, 
When  he  girt  his  young  life  up  in  gilded  mail 
And  set  forth  in  search  of  the  Holy  Grail. 
The  heart  within  him  was  ashes  and  dust; 
295  He  parted  in  twain  his  single  crust, 

He  broke  the  ice  on  the  streamlet's  brink, 

And  gave  the  leper  to  eat  and  drink; 

'T  was  a  moldy  crust  of  coarse  brown  bread, 

'T  was  water  out  of  a  wooden  bowl,  - 
300  Yet  with  fine  wheaten  bread  was  the  leper  fed, 
And  't  was  red  wine  he  drank  with  his  thirsty 
soul. 


THE    VISION   OF  SIR    LAUNFAI,  57 

VII 

As  Sir  Latin fal  mused  with  a  downcast  face, 
A  light  shone  round  about  the  place; 
The  leper  no  longer  crouched  at  his  side, 
305  Rtit  stood  before  him  glorified, 

Shining  and  tall  and  fair  and  straight 

As    the    pillar    that    stood    by    the    Beautiful 

Gate,  — 

Himself  the  Gate  whereby  men  can 
Enter  the  temple  of  God  in  Man. 

VIII 

310  His  words  were  shed  softer  than  leaves  from 

the  pine, 
And  they  fell  on  Sir  Latmfal  as  snows  on  the 

brine, 

That  mingle  their  softness  and  .quiet  in  one 
With  the  shaggy  unrest  they  float  down  upon; 
And  the  voice   that  was  softer  than  silence 

said, 

315  "Lo,  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid! 
In  many  climes,  without  avail, 
Thou  hast  spent  thy  life  for  the  Holy  Grail; 


58  THE    VISION   OF  SIR    LAUNFAL 

Behold,  it  is  here,  —  this  cup  which  them 
Didst  fill  at  the  streamlet  for  me  but  now; 

320  This  crust  is  my  body  broken  for  thee, 
This  water  his  blood  that  died  on  the  tree, 
The  Holy  Supper  is  kept,  indeed, 
In  whatso  we  share  with  another's  need,  - 
Not  what  we  give,  but  what  we  share,  - 

325  For  the  gift  without  the  giver  is  bare; 

Who  gives  himself  with  his  alms  feeds  three,  - 
Himself,  his  hungering  neighbor,   and  me." 

IX 

Sir  Launfal  awoke  as  from  a  swound :  — 
"The  Grail  in  my  castle  here  is  found! 
330  Hang  my  idle  armor  up  on  the  wall, 
Let  it  be  the  spider's  banquet-hall; 
He  must  be  fenced  with  stronger  mail 
Who  would  seek  and  find  the  Holy  Grail." 

x 

The  castle  gate  stands  open  now, 
335      And  the  \vanderer  is  welcome  to  the  hall 
As  the  hangbird  is  to  the  elm-tree  bough; 

No  longer  scowl  the  turrets  tall, 
The  Summer's  long  siege  at  last  is  o'er: 


THE   SHEPHERD   OF   KING   ADMETUS  59 

When  the  first  poor  outcast  went  in  at  the  door. 
340  She  entered  with  him  in  disguise, 

And  mastered  the  fortress  by  surprise; 

There  is  no  spot  she  loves  so  wrell  on  ground, 

She  lingers  and  smiles  there  the  whole  year 
round ; 

The  meanest  serf  on  Sir  Launfal's  land 
345  Has  hall  and  bower  at  his  command; 

And  there 's  no  poor  man  in  the  North  Countree 

But  is  lord  of  the  earldom  as  much  as  he. 


THE  SHEPHERD  OF  KING  ADMETUS 

THERE  came  a  youth  upon  the  earth, 

Some  thousand  years  ago, 
Whose  slender  hands  were  nothing  worth, 
Whether  to  plow,  or  reap,  or  sow. 

5       He  made  a  lyre,  and  drew  therefrom 

Music  so  strange  and  rich, 
That  all  men  loved  to  hear,  —  and  some 
Muttered  of  fagots  for  a  witch. 

But  King  Admetus,  one  who  had 
JO        Pure  taste  by  right  divine, 


60  THE  SHEPHERD   OF   KING   ADMETVS 

Decreed  his  singing  not  too  bad 
To  hear  between  the  cups  of  wine 

And  so,  well  pleased  with  being  soothed 

Into  a  sweet  half-sleep, 

15     Three  times  his  kingly  beard  lie  smoothed 
And  made  him  viceroy  o  'er  his  sheep. 

His  words  were  simple  words  enough, 

And  yet  he  used  them  so, 
That  what  in  other  mouths  were  rough 
20     In  his  seemed  musical  and  low. 

Men  called  him  but  a  shiftless  youth, 

In  whom  no  good  they  saw; 
And  )rct,  unwittingly,  in  truth, 
They  made  his  careless  words  their  law. 

25    They  knew  not  how  he  learned  at  all, 

For,  long  hour  after  hour, 
He  sat  and  watched  the  dead  leaves  fall. 
Or  mused  upon  a  common  flower. 

It  seemed  the  loveliness  of  things 
30        Did  teach  him  all  their  use, 


AN   INCIDENT   IN   A    RAILROAD   CAR  61 

For,  in  mere  weeds,  and  stones,  and  springs, 
He  found  a  healing  power  profuse. 

Men  granted  that  his  speech  was  wise, 

But,  when  a  glance  they  caught 
35     Of  his  slim  grace  and  woman's  eyes, 

They  laughed,  and  called  him  good-for-naught. 

Yet  after  he  was  dead  and  gone, 

And  e  'en  his  memory  dim, 
Earth  seemed  more  sweet  to  live  upon, 
40    More  full  of  love,  because  of  him. 

And  day  by  day  more  holy  grew 
Each  spot  where  he  had  trod, 
Till  after-poets  only  knew 
Their  first-born  brother  as  a  god. 

AN  INCIDENT  IN  A  RAILROAD  CAR 

HE  spoke  of  Burns :  men  rude  and  rough 
Pressed  round  to  hear  the  praise  of  one 

Whose    heart   was   made    of   manly,    simple, 

stuff, 
As  homespun  as  their  own. 


62  AN   INCIDENT   IN   A    RAILROAD   CAR 

5      And,  when  ho  read,  they  forward  leaned, 

Drinking,  with  eager  hearts  and  ears, 
His  brook-like  songs  whom  glory  never  weaned 
From  humble  smiles  and  tears. 

Slowly  there  grew  a  tender  awe, 
10        Sunlike,  o  'er  faces  brown  and  hard, 
As  if  in  him  who  read  they  felt  and  sav/ 
Some  presence  of  the  bard. 

It  was  a  sight  for  sin  and  wrong 

And  slavish  tyranny  to  see, 
15     A  sight   to   make   our   faith   more   pure   and 

strong 
In  high  humanity. 

I  thought,  these  men  will  carry  hence 
Promptings  their  former  life  above, 
And  something  of  a  finer  reverence 
20        For  beauty,  truth,  and  love. 

God  scatters  love  on  every  side, 

Freely  among  his  children  all, 
And  always  hearts  are  lying  open  wide, 

Wherein  some  grains  may  fall. 


AN   INCIDENT   IN   A    RAILROAD   CAR  63 

25     There  is  no  wind  but  soweth  seeds 

Of  a  more  true  and  open  life, 
Which  burst    unlocked    for,  into  high-souled 
*     deeds, 
With  wayside  beauty  rife. 

We  find  within  these  souls  of  ours 
30        Some  wild  germs  of  a  higher  birth, 

Which  in  the  poet's  tropic  heart  bear  flowers 
Whose  fragrance  fills  the  earth. 

Within  the  hearts  of  all  men  lie 
These  promises  of  wider  bliss, 
35    Which  blossom  into  hopes  that  cannot  die, 
In  sunny  hours  like  this. 

All  that  hath  been  majestical 

In  life  or  death,  since  time  began, 
Is  native  in  the  simple  heart  of  all, 
10        The  angel  heart  of  man. 

And  thus,  among  the  untaught  poor, 
Great  deeds  and  feelings  find  a  home, 

That  cast  in  shadow  all  the  golden  lore 
Of  classic  Greece  and  Rome. 


64  AN   INCIDENT    IN   A    RAILROAD   CAR 

45     0,  mighty  brother-soul  of  man, 

Where  'er  thou  art,  in  low  or  high, 
Thy  skyey  arches  with  exulting  span 
O'er-roof  infinity! 

All  thoughts  that  mould  the  age  begin 
50         Deep  down  within  the  primitive  soul, 
And  from  the  many  slowly  upward  win 
To  one  who  grasps  the  whole. 

In  his  wide  brain  the  feeling  deep 

That  struggled  on  the  many's  tongue 
55     Swells  to  a  tide  of  thought,  whose  surges  leap 
0  'er  the  weak  thrones  of  wrong. 

All  thought  begins  in  feeling,  —  wide 

In  the  great  mass  its  base  is  hid, 
And,  narrowing  up  to  thought,  stands  glori 
fied, 
80        A  moveless  pyramid. 

Nor  is  he  far  astray,  who  deems 

That   every   hope,   which   rises   and   grows 
broad 


AN    INCIDENT   IN   A    RAILROAD   CAR  65 

In    the    world's    heart,   by    ordered    impulse 

streams 
From  the  great  heart  of  God. 

t> 
05     God  wills,  man  hopes;  in  common  souls 

Hope  is  but  vague  and  undefined, 
Till  from  the  poet's  tongue  the  message  rolls 
A  blessin    to  his  kind. 


Never  did  Poesy  appear 
70        So  full  of  heaven  to  me,  as  when 

I  saw  how  it  would  pierce  through  pride  and 

fear, 
To  the  lives  of  coarsest  men. 

It  may  be  glorious  to  write 

Thoughts  that  shall  glad  the  two  or  three 
75     High  souls,  like  those  far  stars  that  come  in 

sight 
Once  in  a  century;  — 

But  better  far  it  is  to  speak 

One  simple  word,  which  now  and  then 
Shall  waken  their  free  nature  in  the  weak 
80        And  friendless  sons  of  men; 


66  HEBE 

To  write  some  earnest  verse  or  line 
Which,  seeking  not  the  praise  of  art, 

Shall  make  a  clearer  faith  and  manhood  shine 
In  the  untutored  heart. 

85   He  who  doth  this,  in  verse  or  prose, 

May  be  forgotten  in  his  day, 
But  surely  shall  be  crowned  at  last  with  those 
Who  live  and  speak  for  aye. 

HEBE 

I  SAW  the  twinkle  of  white  feet, 
I  saw  the  flash  of  robes  descending; 

Before  her  ran  an  influence  fleet, 
That  bowed  my  heart  like  barley  bending. 

5       As,  in  bare  fields,  the  searching  bees 
Pilot  to  blooms  beyond  our  finding, 

It  led  me  on,  by  sweet  degrees 
Joy's  simple  honey-cells  unbinding. 

Those  Graces  were  that  seemed  grim  Fates, 
10   With  nearer  love  the  sky  leaned  o'er  me; 

The  long-sought  Secret's  golden  gates 
On  musical  hinges  swung  before  me. 


TO   THE  DANDELION  67 

I  saw  the  brimmed  bowl  in  her  grasp 
Thrilling  with  godhood ;  like  a  lover 
15       I  sprang  the  proffered  life  to  clasp;  — 
'Hie  beaker  fell;  the  luck  was  over. 

The  Earth  has  drunk  the  vintage  up; 
What  boots  it  patch  the  goblet's  splinters? 

Can  Summer  fill  the  icy  cup, 
20   Whose  treacherous  crystal  is  but  Winter's? 

0  spendthrift  Haste!  await  the  gods; 
Their  nectar  crowns  the  lips  of  Patience; 

Haste  scatters  on  unthankful  sods 
The  immortal  gift  in  vain  libations. 

25       Coy  Hebe  flies  from  those  that  woo, 
And  shuns  the  hands  would  seize  upon  her; 

Follow  thy  life,  and  she  will  sue 
To  pour  for  thee  the  cup  of  honor. 

TO  THE  DANDELION 

DEAR  common  flower,  that  grow'st  beside  the 

way, 
Fringing  the  dusty  road  with  harmless  gold, 


68  TO  THE   DANDELION 

First  pledge  of  blithesome  May, 
Which  children  pluck,  and,  full  of  pride,  up 
hold, 

5      High-hearted  buccaneers,  o  'er joyed  that  they 
An  Eldorado  in  the  grass  have  found, 

Which  not  the  rich  earth's  ample  round 
May  match  in  wealth  —  thou  art  more  dear  to 

me 
Than  all  the  prouder  summer-blooms  may  be. 

10    Gold  such  as  thine  ne'er  drew  the  Spanish 

prow 
Through  the  primeval  hush  of  Indian  seas, 

Nor  wrinkled  the  lean  brow 
Of  age,  to  rob  the  lover's  heart  of  ease; 
'T  is  the  Spring's  largess,  which  she  scatters 

now 
15    To  rich  and  poor  alike,  with  lavish  hand, 

Though  most  hearts  never  understand 
To  take  it  at  God's  value,  but  pass  by 
The  offered  wealth  with  unrewarded  eye. 

Thou  art  my  tropics  and  mine  Italy; 
20    To  look  at  thee  unlocks  a  warmer  clime; 


TO   THE   DANDELION  69 

The  eyes  thou  givest  me 
Are  in  the  heart,  and  heed  not  space  or  time. 
Not  in  mid  June  the  golden-cuirassed  bee 
Feels  a  more  summer-like,  warm  ravishment 
25        In  the  white  lily's  breezy  tent, 

His  fragrant  Sybaris,  than  I,  when  first 
From  the  dark  green  thy  yellow  circles  burst. 

Then  think  I  of  deep  shadows  on  the  grass,  — • 
Of  meadows  where  in  sun  the  cattle  graze, 

30        Where,  as  the  breezes  pass, 

The  gleaming  rushes  lean  a  thousand  ways,  — 
Of  leaves  that  slumber  in  a  cloudy  mass, 
Or  whiten  in  the  wind,  of  waters  blue 
That  from  the  distance  sparkle  through 

35     Some  woodland  gap,  and  of  a  sky  above, 

Where  one  white  cloud  like  a  stray  lamb  doth 
move. 

My   childhood's  earliest   thoughts  are   linked 

with  thee; 
The  sight  of  thee  calls  back  the  robin's  song, 

Who,  from  the  dark  old  tree 
40     Beside  the  door,  sang  clearly  all  day  long, 


70  TO  THE  DANDELION 

And  I,  secure  in  childish  piety, 
Listened  as  if  I  heard  an  angel  sing 
With  news  from  Heaven,  which  he  could 

bring 

Fresh  every  day  to  my  untainted  ears, 
45   When  birds   and   flowers   and   I   were   happy 
peers. 

Thou  art  the  type  of  those  meek  charities 
Which  make  up  half  the  nobleness  of  life, 

Those  cheap  delights  the  wise 
Pluck  from  the  dusty  wayside  of  earth's  strife; 
50   Words  of  frank  cheer,  glances  of  friendly  eyes, 
Love's  smallest  coin,  which  yet  to  some  may 

give 

The  morsel  that  may  keep  alive 
A  starving  heart,  and  teach  it  to  behold 
Some  glimpse  of  God  where  all  before  was  cold. 

65   Thy  winged  seeds,  whereof  the  winds  take  care, 
Are  like  the  words  of  poet  and  of  sage 
Which  through  the  free  heaven  fare, 
And,  now  unheeded,  in  another  age 
Take  root,  and  to  the  gladdened  future  bear 


TO  THE  DANDELION  71 

60   That  witness  which  the  present  would  not  heed, 

Bringing  forth  many  a  thought  and  deed, 
And,  planted  safely  in  the  eternal  sky, 
Bloom  into  stars  which  earth  is  guided  by. 

Full  of  deep  love  thou  art,  yet  not  more  full 
65   Than  all  thy  common  brethren  of  the  ground, 

Wherein,  were  we  not  dull, 
Some  words  of  highest  wisdom  might  be  found, 
Yet  earnest  faith  from  day  to  day  may  cull 
Some  syllables,  which,  rightly  joined,  can  make 
70       A  spell  to  soothe  life's  bitterest  ache, 

And  ope  Heaven's  portals,  which  are  near  us 

still, 
Yea,  nearer  ever  than  the  gates  of  111. 

How  like  a  prodigal  doth  nature  seem, 
When  thou,  for  all  thy  gold,  so  common  art! 
75       Thou  teachest  me  to  deem 

More  sacredly  of  every  human  heart, 

Since  each  reflects  in  joy  its  scanty  gleam 

Of  Heaven,  and  could  some  wondrous  secret 

show, 
Did  we  but  pay  the  love  we  owe, 


72  MY   LOVE 

80    And  with  a  child's  undoubting  wisdom  look 
On  all  these  living  pages  of  God's  book. 

But  let  me  read  thy  lesson  right  or  no, 

Of  one  good  gift  from  thee  my  heart  is  sure; 

Old  I  shall  never  grow 
85    While  thou  each  year  dost  come  to  keep  me 

pure 

With  legends  of  my  childhood;  ah,  we  owe 
Well  more  than  half  life's  holiness  to  these 

Nature's  first  lowly  influences, 
At  thought  of   which   the    heart's   glad   doors 

burst  ope, 
PO    In  dreariest  days,  to  welcome  peace  and  hope. 

MY    LOVE 

NOT  as  all  other  women  are 

Is  she  that  to  my  soul  is  dear; 
Her  glorious  fancies  come  from  far, 
Beneath  the  silver  evening-star, 
5  And  yet  her  heart  is  ever  near. 

Great  feelings  hath  she  of  her  own, 
Which  lesser  souls  may  never  know; 


MY    LOVE  73 

God  giveth  them  to  her  alone, 
And  sweet  they  are  as  any  tone 
10  Wherewith  the  wind  may  choose  to  blow. 

f 

Yet  in  herself  she  dwelleth  not, 

Although  no  home  were  half  so  fair; 
No  simplest  duty  is  forgot, 
Life  hath  no  dim  and  lowly  spot 
15  That  doth  not  in  her  sunshine  share. 

She  doeth  little  kindnesses, 

Which  most  leave  undone,  or  despise; 
For  naught  that  sets  one  heart  at  ease, 
And  giveth  happiness  or  peace, 
20  Is  low-esteemed  in  her  eyes. 

She  hath  no  scorn  of  common  things, 

And,  though  she  seem  of  other  birth, 
Round  us  her  heart  entwines  and  clings, 
And  patiently  she  folds  her  wings 
25  To  tread  the  humble  paths  of  earth, 

Blessing  she  is :  God  made  her  so, 
And  deeds  of  week-day  holiness 


74  MY  LOVE 

Fall  from  her  noiseless  as  the  snow, 
Nor  hath  she  ever  chanced  to  know 
30  That  aught  were  easier  than  to  bless. 

She  is  most  fair,  and  thereunto 

Her  life  doth  rightly  harmonize; 
Feeling  or  thought  that  was  not  true 
Ne  'er  made  less  beautiful  the  blue 
35  Unclouded  heaven  of  her  eyes. 

She  is  a  woman :  one  in  whom 

The  spring-time  of  her  childish  years 
Hath  never  lost  its  fresh  perfume, 
Though  knowing  well  that  life  hath  room 
40  For  many  blights  and  many  tears. 

I  love  her  with  a  love  as  still 

As  a  broad  river's  peaceful  might, 
Which,  by  high  tower  and  lowly  mill, 
Goes  wandering  at  its  own  will, 
46  And  yet  doth  ever  flow  aright. 

And,  on  its  full,  deep  breast  serene, 

Like  quiet  isles  my  duties  lie; 
It  flows  around  them  and  between, 


THE  CHANGELING  75 

And  makes  them  fresh  and  fair  and  green, 
50       Sweet  homes  wherein  to  live  and  die. 

THE  CHANGELING 

I  HAD  a  little  daughter, 

And  she  was  given  to  me 
To  lead  me  gently  backward 

To  the  Heavenly  Father's  knee, 
5   That  I,  by  the  force  of  nature, 

Might  in  some  dim  wise  divine 
The  depth  of  his  infinite  patience 

To  this  wayward  soul  of  mine. 

I  know  not  how  others  saw  her, 
10       But  to  me  she  was  wholly  fair, 

And  the  light  of  the  heaven  she  came  from 

Still  lingered  and  gleamed  in  her  hair; 
For  it  was  as  wavy  and  golden, 

And  as  many  changes  took, 
15  As  the  shadows  of  sun-gilt  ripples 
On  the  yellow  bed  of  a  brook. 

To  what  can  I  liken  her  smiling 
Upon  me,  her  kneeling  lover? 


76  THE   CHANGELING 

How  it  leaped  from  her  lips  to  her  eyelids, 
20        And  dimpled  her  wholly  over, 

Till  her  outstretched  hands  smiled  also, 

And  I  almost  seemed  to  see 
The  very  heart  of  her  mother 

Sending  sun  through  her  veins  to  me? 

25    She  had  been  with  us  scarce  a  twelve-month, 

And  it  hardly  seemed  a  day, 
When  a  troop  of  wandering  angels 

Stole  my  little  daughter  away; 
Or  perhaps  those  heavenly  Zingari 
30        But  loosed  the  hampering  strings, 

And  when  they  had  opened  her  cage-door, 
My  little  bird  used  her  wings. 

But  they  left  in  her  stead  a  changeling, 

A  little  angel  child, 
35    That  seems  like  her  bud  in  full  blossom, 

And  smiles  as  she  never  smiled: 
When  I  wake  in  the  morning,  I  see  it 

Where  she  always  used  to  lie, 
And  I  feel  as  weak  as  a  violet 
40        Alone  'neath  the  awful  sky. 


.4 AT    INDIAN-SUMMER   REVERIE  77 

As  weak,  yet  as  trustful  also; 

For  the  whole  year  long  I  see 
All  the  wonders  of  faithful  Nature 
*  Still  worked  for  the  love  of  me; 
45    Winds  wander,  and1  dews  drip  earthward, 

Rain  falls,  suns  rise  and  set, 
Earth  whirls,  and  all  but  to  prosper 
A  poor  little  violet. 

This  child  is  not  mine  as  the  first  was, 
50        I  cannot  sing  it  to  rest, 
I  cannot  lift  it  up  fatherly 

And  bliss  it  upon  my  breast; 
Yet  it  lies  in  my  little  one's  cradle 
And  sits  in  my  little  one's  chair, 
55     And  the  light  of  the  heaven  she's  gone  to 
Transfigures  its  golden  hair. 

AN  INDIAN-SUMMER  REVERIE 

WHAT  visionary  tints  the  year  puts  on, 
When  falling  leaves  falter  through  motion 
less  air 

Or  numbly  cling  and  shiver  to  be  gone! 
How  shimmer  the  low  flats  and  pastures  bare, 


78  AN  INDIAN-SUMMER  REVERIE 

5          As  with  her  nectar  Hebe  Autumn  fills 

The  bowl  between  me  and  those  distant 

hills, 

And    smiles    and    shakes    abroad    her   misty, 
tremulous  hair! 

No  more  the  landscape  holds  its  wealth 

apart, 

Making  me  poorer  in  my  poverty, 
1C  But    mingles    with    my    senses   and    my 

heart; 

My  own  projected  spirit  seems  to  me 
In  her  own  reverie  the  world  to  steep; 
'T  is    she    that    waves    to    sympathetic 

sleep, 

M  n  ing,  as  she  is  moved,  each  field  and  hill 
and  tree. 

15  How   fuse   and   mix,   with   what   unfelt 

degrees, 
Clasped  by  the  faint  horizon's  languid  arms, 

Each  into  each,  the  hazy  distances! 
The  softened  season  all  the  landscape  charms ; 
Those  hills,  my  native  village  that  embay, 


AN   INDIAN-SUMMER    REVERIE  79 

20  In  waves  of  dreamier  purple  roll  away, 

And  floating  in  mirage  seem  all  the  glimmering 

farms. 
> 

Far  distant  sounds  the  hidden  chickadee 
Close    at   my  side;    far    distant   sound    the 

leaves ; 
The  fields  seem   fields   of   dream,   where 

Memory 
25        Wanders   like   gleaning  Ruth;  and  as   the 

sheaves 

Of  wheat  and  barley  wavered  in  the  eye 
Of  Boaz  as  the  maiden's  glow  went  by, 
So   tremble  and  seem  remote  all   things  the 
sense  receives. 

The  cock's  shrill  trump  that  tells  of  scat 
tered  corn, 

30        Passed  breezily  on  by  all  his  flapping  mates, 
Faint  and  more  faint,  from  barn  to  barn 

is  borne, 

Southward,  perhaps  to  far  Magellan's  Straits; 
Dimly  I  catch  the  throb  of  distant  flails; 
Silentlv  overhead  the  hen-hawk  sails, 


80  AN   INDIAN-SUMMER   REVERIE 

35    With  watchful,   measuring  eye,   and   for  his 
quarry  waits. 

The  sobered  robin,  hunger-silent  now, 
Seeks  cedar-berries  blue,  his  autumn  cheer; 
The  chipmunk,  on  the  shingly  shagbark's 

bough, 
Now  saws,  now  lists  with  downward  eye  and 

ear, 
40  Then  drops  his  nut,  and,  cheeping,  with  a 

bound 

Whisks    to   his  winding    fastness    under 
ground; 

The  clouds  like  swans  drift  down  the  stream 
ing  atmosphere. 

O'er  yon  bare  knoll    the    pointed  cedar- 
shadows 

Drowse  on  the  crisp,  gray  moss;  the  plough 
man's  call 

45  Creeps  faint  as  smoke  from  black,  fresh- 

furrowed  meadows; 
The  single  crow  a  single  caw  lets  fall; 
And  all  around  me  every  bush  and  tree 


AN   INDIAN-SUMMER    REVERIE  81 

Says  Autumn's   here,   and  Winter  soon 

will  be, 

Who  snows  his  soft,  white  sleep  and  silence 
over  all. 

50  The  birch,  most  shy  and  ladylike  of  trees, 

Her  poverty,  as  best  she  may,  retrieves, 
And  hints  at  her  foregone  gentilities 
With  some  saved   relics   of   her   wealth   of 

leaves; 

The  swamp-oak,  with  his  royal  purple  on, 
55  Glares  red  as  blood  across  the  sinking  sun, 

As   one   who   proudlier   to   a   falling   fortune 
cleaves. 

He  looks  a  sachem,  in  red  blanket  wrapt, 
Who,   'mid   some  council  of  the  sad-garbed 

whites, 

Erect  and  stern,  in  his  own  memories  lapt, 
80       With  distant  eye  broods  over  other  sights, 
Sees  the  hushed  wood  the  city's  flare  re 
place, 

The  wounded  turf  heal  o'er  the  railway's 
trace, 


V 

S2  AN  INDIAN-SUMMER    REVERIE 

And  roams  the  savage  Past  of  his  undwindled 
rights. 

The  red-oak,  softer-grained,  yields  all  for 

lost, 
65        And,  with  his  crumpled  foliage  stiff  and  dry, 

After  the  first  betrayal  of  the  frost, 
Rebuffs  the  kiss  of  the  relenting  sky; 

The    chestnuts,    lavish   of   their   long-hid 

gold, 
To  the  faint  Summer,  beggared  now  and 

old, 

70     Pour  back   the  sunshine  hoarded   'neath  her 
favoring  eye. 

The  ash  her  purple  drops  forgivingly 
And  sadly,  breaking  not  the  general  hush; 

The  maple-swamps  glow  like  a  sunset  sea, 
Each  leaf  a  ripple  with  its  separate  flush; 
75  All  round    the    wood's    edge    creeps    the 

skirting  blaze 

Of  bushes  low,  as  when,  on  cloudy  days, 
Ere  the  rain  falls,  the  cautious  farmer  burns 
his  brush. 


,4  AT    INDIAN -SUMMER    REVERIE  83 

O'er  yon  low  wall,  which  guards  one  un 
kempt  zone, 
Where    vines    and    weeds    and    scrub-oaks 

intertwine 

80  Safe  from  the  plough,  whose  rough,  dis 

cordant  stone 

Is  massed  to  one  soft  gray  by  lichens  fine, 
The  tangled  blackberry,  crossed  and  re- 
crossed,  weaves 

A  prickly  network  of  ensanguined  leaves; 
Hard  by,  with  coral  beads,  the  prim  black- 
alders  shine. 

85  Pillaring  with  flame  this  crumbling  bound 

ary, 

Whose  loose  blocks  topple  'neath  the  plough- 
boy's  foot, 
Who,  with   each   sense   shut   fast  except 

the  eye, 
Creeps  close  and  scares  the  jay  he  hoped  to 

shoot, 
The  woodbine  up  the  elm's  straight  stem 

aspires, 
90  Coiling  it,  harmless,  with  autumnal  fires; 


84  AN   INDIAN-SUMMER   REVERIE 

In  the  ivy's  paler  blaze  the  martyr  oak  stands 
mute. 

Below,  the  Charles,  a  stripe  of  nether  sky, 
Now  hid  by  rounded  apple-trees  between, 
Whose   gaps   the   misplaced   sail   sweeps 

bellying  by, 
95        Now  flickering  golden  through  a  woodland 

screen, 

Then  spreading  out,  at  his  next  turn  be 
yond, 

A  silver  circle  like  an  inland  pond  — 
Slips  seaward  silently  through  marshes  purple 
and  green. 

Dear  marshes!  vain   to  him   the  gift  of 

sight 

100      Who  cannot  in  their  various  incomes  share, 
From  every  season  drawn,  of  shade  and 

light, 
Who  sees  in  them  but  levels  brown  and 

bare; 

Each  change  of  storm  or  sunshine  scatters 
free 


AN   INDIAN-SUMMER  REVERIE  85 

On  them  its  largess  of  variety, 
105  For  Nature  with  cheap  means  still  works  her 
wonders  rare. 

* 

In  spring  they  lie  one  broad  expanse  of 

green, 

O'er  which  the  light  winds  run  with  glimmer 
ing  feet : 
Here,  yellower  stripes  track  out  the  creek 

unseen, 
There,  darker  growths  o'er  hidden  ditches 

meet; 

110          And  purpler  stains  show  where  the  blos 
soms  crowd, 

As  if  the  silent  shadow  of  a  cloud 
Hung  there  becalmed,  with  the  next  breath 
to  fleet. 

All  round,  upon  the  river's  slippery  edge, 
Witching  to  deeper  calm  the  drowsy  tide, 
115          Whispers  and  leans  the  breeze-entangling 

sedge; 

Through     emerald     glooms     the     lingering 
waters  slide, 


86  AN   INDIAN-SUMMER   REVERIE 

Or,  sometimes  wavering,  throw  back  the 

sun, 
And  the  stiff  banks  in  eddies  melt  and 

run 

Of  dimpling  light,  and  with  the  current  seem 
to  glide. 

120          In  summer  't  is  a  blithesome  sight  to  see, 
As,   step    by   step,    with    measured    swing, 

they  pass, 
The  wide-ranked  mowers  wading  to  the 

knee, 
Their   sharp    scythes   panting   through    the 

wiry  grass; 
Then,  stretched  beneath  a  rick's  shade  in 

a  ring, 
125          Their  nooning  take,  while  one  begins  to 

sing 

A  stave  that  droops  and  dies  'neath  the  close 
sky  of  brass. 

Meanwhile  that  devil-may-care,  the  bobo 
link, 
Remembering  duty,  in  mid-quaver  stops 


AN   INDIAN-SUMMER   REVERIE  87 

Just  ere  he  sweeps  o'er  rapture's  tremu 
lous  brink, 

130  And  'twixt  the  winrows  most  demurely  drops, 
A  decorous  bird  of  business,  who  provides 
For  his  brown  mate  and  fledglings  six 

besides, 

And  looks  from  right  to  left,  a  farmer  rmid 
his  crops. 

Another  change  subdues  them  in  the  fall, 
135      But  saddens   not;  they   still   show   merrier 

tints, 

Though  sober  russet  seems  to  cover  all; 
When  the  first  sunshine  through  their  dew- 
drops  glints, 
Look  how  the  yellow  clearness,  streamed 

across, 

Redeems  with  rarer  hues  the  season's  loss, 
140  As  Dawn's  feet  there  had  touched  and  left 
their  rosy  prints. 

Or  come  when  sunset  gives  its  freshened 

zest, 
Lean  o  'er  the  bridge  and  let  the  ruddy  thrill, 


88  Atf   INDIAN-SUMMER   REVERIE 

While  the  shorn  sun  swells  down  the  hazy 

west, 

Glow  opposite;  —  the  marshes  drink  their  fill 
145          And  swoon  with  purple  veins,  then  slowly 

fade 
Through  pink  to  brown,  as  eastward  moves 

the  shade, 

Lengthening  with  stealthy  creep,  of  Simond's 
darkening  hill. 

Later,  and  yet  ere  winter  wholly  shuts, 
Ere  through  the  first  dry  snow  the  runner 

grates, 

150          And  the  loath  cart-wheel  screams  in  slip 
pery  ruts, 

While  firmer  ice  the  eager  boy  awaits, 
Trying  each  buckle  and  strap  beside  the 

fire, 

And  until  bedtime  plays  with  his  desire, 
Twenty   times   putting  on   and  off  his  new- 
bought  skates;  — 

155          Then,  every  morn,  the  river's  banks  shine 
bright 


;LV   INDIAN-SUMMER   REVERIE  89 

With  smooth  plate-armor,  treacherous  and 

frail, 
By  the  frost's  clinking  hammers  forged  at 

night, 
'Gainst  which  the  lances  of  the  sun  prevail. 

Giving  a  pretty  emblem  of  the  day 
160          When   guiltier   arms   in   light  shall   melt 

away, 

And  states  shall  move  free-limbed,  loosed  from 
war's  cramping  mail. 

And  now  those  waterfalls  the  ebbing  river 
Twice  every  day  creates  on  either  side 
Tinkle,    as    through    their    fresh-sparred 

grots  they  shiver 

165      In  grass-arched  channels  to  the  sun  denied; 
High    flaps    in    sparkling    blue    the    far- 
heard  crow, 

The  silvered  flats  gleam  frostily  below, 
Suddenly  drops  the  gull  and  breaks  the  glassy 
tide. 

But  crowned  in  turn   by  vying  seasons 
three, 


90  AN   INDIAN-SUMMER   REVERIE 

170      Their  winter  halo  hath  a  fuller  ring; 

This  glory  seems  to  rest  immovably,  — • 
The  others  were  too  fleet  and  vanishing; 
When  the  hid  tide  is  at  its  highest  flow, 
O'er   marsh    and   stream   one    breathless 

trance  of  snow 

175  With  brooding  fulness  awes  and  hushes  every 
thing. 

The   sunshine   seems   blown    off   by   the 

bleak  wind, 
As  pale  as  formal  candles  lit  by  day; 

Gropes  to   the  sea  the  river  dumb  and 

blind; 
The    brown    ricks,    snow-thatched    by    the 

storm  in  play, 
180          Show  pearly  breakers  combing  o'er  their 

lee, 

White  crests  as  of  some  just  enchanted  sea, 
Checked  in  their  maddest  leap  and  hanging 
poised  midway. 

But  when   the  eastern  blow,  with   rain 
aslant, 


AN   INDIAN-SUMMER   REVERIE  91 

From  mid-sea's  prairies  green   and  rolling 

plains 
185  Drives  in  his  wallowing  herds  of  billows 

gaunt, 
And  the  roused  Charles  remembers  in  his 

veins 
Old  Ocean's  blood  and  snaps  his  gyves  of 

frost, 
That  tyrannous  silence  on  the  shores  is 

tost 

In    dreary   wreck,    and   crumbling   desolation 
reigns. 

190          Edgewise  or  flat,  in  Druid-like  device, 

With  leaden  pools  between  or  gullies  bare, 
The  blocks  lie  strewn,  a  bleak  Stonehenge 

of  ice; 

No  life,  no  sound,  to  break  the  grim  despair, 
Save  sullen  plunge,  as  through  the  sedges 

stiff 

195          Down    crackles    riverward    some    thaw- 
sapped  cliff, 

Or  when  the  close-wedged  fields  of  ice  crunch 
here  and  there. 


92  AN   INDIAN-SUMMER  REVERIE 

But  let  me  turn  from  fancy-pictured  scenes 
To  that  whose  pastoral  calm  before  me  lies: 
Here  nothing  harsh  or  rugged  intervenes- 
200      The  early  evening  with  her  misty  dyes 

Smooths  off  the  ravelled  edges  of  the  nigh, 
Relieves  the  distant  with  her  cooler  sky, 
And  tones  the  landscape  down,  and  soothes 
the  wearied  eyes. 

There  gleams  my  native  village,  dear  to 

me, 
205      Though  higher  change's  waves  each  day  are 

seen, 

Whelming  fields  famed  in  boyhood's  his 
tory, 

Sanding  with  houses  the  diminished  green, 
There,  in  red  brick,  which  softening  time 

defies, 

Stand   square   and  stiff   the  Muses'   fac 
tories;  — 

210  How  with  my  life  knit  up  is  every  well-known 
scene ! 

Flow  on,  dear  river!  not  alone  you  flow 


AN  INDIAN-SUMMER   REVERIE  93 

To  outward  sight,  and  through  your  marshes 

wind; 

Fed  from  the  mystic  springs  of  long-ago, 
*  Your  twin  flows  silent  through  my  world  of 

mind: 

215          Grow  dim,  dear  marshes,  in  the  evening's 
gray! 

Before  my  inner  sight  ye  stretch  away, 
And  will    forever,   though   these    fleshly  eyes 
grow  blind. 

Beyond  the  hillock's  house-bespotted  swell, 
Where  Gothic  chapels  house  the  horse  and 

chaise, 

220          Where  quiet  cits  in  Grecian  temples  dwell, 
Where  Coptic  tombs  resound  with  prayer 

and  praise, 

Where  dust  and  mud  the  equal  year  divide, 
There  gentle  Allston  lived,  and  wrought, 

and  died, 

Transfiguring  street  and  shop  with   his  illu 
mined  gaze. 

225          Virgilium  vidi  tantum,  —  I  have  seen 


94  AN   INDIAN-SUMMER   REVERIE 

But  as  a  boy,  who  looks  alike  on  all, 
That   misty   hair,    that   fine   Undine-like 

mien, 

Tremulous  as  down  to  feeling's  faintest  call; — 
Ah,  dear  old  homestead!  count  it  to  thy 

fame 
230          That    thither    many    times    the    Painter 

came ;  — 

One  elm  yet  bears  his  name,  a  feathery  tree 
and  tall. 

Swiftly   the    present    fades    in    memory's 

glow,  - 
Our  only  sure;  possession  is  the  past; 

The  village  blacksmith  died  a  month  ago, 
235       And  dim  to  me  the  forge's  roaring  blast; 
Soon  fi>v-new  meclievals  we  shall  see 
Oust  the  black  smithy  from  its  chestnut- 
tree, 

And  that   hewn  down,   perhaps,   the  bee-hive 
green  and  vast. 

How  many  times,  prouder  than  king  on 
throne, 


AN    INDIAN-SUMMER   REVERIE  95 

240       Loosed  from  the  village  school-dame's  A's 

and  B's, 

Panting  have  I  the  creaky  bellows  blown, 

*And  watched  the  pent  volcano's  red  increase, 

Then  paused  to  see  the  ponderous  sledge, 

brought  down 

By  that  hard  arm  voluminous  and  brown, 
245  From  the  white  iron  swarm   its  golden  van 
ishing  bees. 

Dear   native    town!  whose    choking   elms 

each  year 
With  eddying  dust  before  their  time  turn 

gray, 
Pining    for    rain,  -  -  to    me    thy    dust   is 

dear ; 

It  glorifies  the  eve  of  summer  day, 
250          And  when  the  westering  sun  half  sunken 

burns, 

The  mote-thick  air  to  deepest  orange  turns, 
The  westward  horseman  rides  through  clouds 
of  gold  away, 

So  palpable,  I've  seen  those  unshorn  few, 


96  AN    INDIAN-SUMMER    REVERIE 

The  six  old  willows  at  the  causey's  end 
255         (Such    trees   Paul    Potter   never  dreamed 

nor  drew), 
Through     this    dry    mist    their    checkering 

shadows  send, 
Striped,    here    and    there,    with    many    a 

long-drawn  thread, 
Where  streamed  through  leafy  chinks  the 

trembling  red, 

Past   which,    in    one    bright    trail,    the    hang- 
bird's  flashes  blend. 

260         Yes,  dearer  far  thy  dust  than  all  that  e  'er, 
Beneath  the  awarded  crown  of  victory, 

Gilded  the  blown  Olympic  charioteer; 
Though  lightly  prized    the   ribboned  parch 
ments  three, 

Yet  collegisse  juvat,  I  am  glad 
265        That    here    what    colleging   was    mine   I 

had,  - 

It  linked  another  tie,  dear  native  town,  with 
thee ! 

Nearer  art  thou  than  simply  native  earth, 


THE  OAR  97 

My  dust  with  thine  concedes  a  deeper  tie; 

A  closer  claim  thy  soil  may  well  put  forth, 

270      Something  of  kindred  more  than  sympathy; 

*     For  in  thy  bounds  I  reverently  laid  away 

That  blinding  anguish  of  forsaken  clay, 
That  title  I  seemed  to  have  in  earth  and  sea 
and  sky, 

That  portion  of  my  life  more  choice  to 

me 
275      (Though  brief,  yet  in  itself  so  round  and 

whole) 

Than  all  the  imperfect  residue  can  be;  — 
The  Artist  saw  his  statue  of  the  soul 

Was  perfect;  so,  with  one  regretful  stroke, 
The  earthen  model  into  fragments  broke, 
280  And   without   her   the   impoverished   seasons 
roll. 

* 

THE  OAK 

WHAT  gnarled  stretch,  what  depth  of  shade, 

is  his! 

There  needs  no  crown  to  mark  the  forest's 
king; 


98  THE   OAK 

How  in  his  leaves  outshines  full  summer's  bliss! 
Sun,  storm,  rain,  dew,  to  him  their  tribute 

bring, 

5      Which  he  with  such  benignant  royalty 
Accepts,  as  overpayeth  what  is  lent; 
All  nature  seems  his  vassal  proud  to  be, 
And  cunning  only  for  his  ornament. 

How  towrers  he,  too,  amid  the  billowed  snows, 

10        An  unquelled  exile  from  the  summer's  throne, 

Whose  plain,   uncinctured  front  more  kingly 

shows, 
Now  that  the  obscuring  courtier  leaves  are 

flown. 

His  boughs  make  music  of  the  winter  air, 
Jewelled    with    sleet,    like    some    cathedral 

front 
15     Where   clinging  snow-flakes  with  quaint  art 

repair 

The  dents  and  furrows  of    time's  envious 
brunt. 

How  doth  his  patient  strength  the  rude  March 
wind 


THE   OAK  99 

Persuade  to  seem  glad  breaths  of  summer 

breeze, 

And  win  the  soil,  that  fain  would  be  unkind, 
20        To  swell  his  revenues  with  proud  increase! 
He  is  the  gem;  and  all  the  landscape  wide 

(So  doth  his  grandeur  isolate  the  sense) 
Seems  but  the  setting,  worthless  all  beside, 
An  empty  socket,  were  he  fallen  thence. 

25     So,  from  oft  converse  with  life's  wintry  gales, 
Should  man  learn  how  to  clasp  with  tougher 

roots 
The  inspiring  earth;  how  otherwise  avails 

The  leaf-creating  sap  that  sunward  shoots? 
So  every  year  that  falls  with  noiseless  flake 
30        Should  fill  old  scars  up  on  the  stormward  side, 
And  make  hoar  age  revered  for  age's  sake, 
Not  for  traditions  of  youth's  leafy -pride. 

So,  from  the  pinched  soil  of  a  churlish  fate, 
True   hearts    compel    the    sap    of    sturdier 

growth, 

35    So  between  earth  and  heaven  stand  simply 
great, 


100  BEAVER   BROOK 

That  these  shall  seenx  but  their  attendants 

both; 
For  nature's  forces  with  obedient  zeal 

Wait  on  the  rooted  faith  and  oaken  will; 
As  quickly  the  pretender's  cheat  they  feel, 
40        And  turn  mad  Pucks  to   flout  and  mock 
him  still. 

Lord!  all  Thy  works  are  lessons;  each  contains 

Some  emblem  of  man's  all-containing  soul; 

Shall  he  make  fruitless  all  thy  glorious  pains, 

Delving  within  thy  grace  an  eyeless  mole? 

45     Make  me  the  least  of  thy  Dodona-grovc, 

Cause  me  some  message  of  thy  truth  to  bring, 
Speak  but  a  word  through  me,  nor  let  thy 

love 

Among   my  boughs  disdain  to   perch  and 
sing. 

BEAVER  BROOK 

HUSHED  with  broad  sunlight  lies  the  hill, 
And,  minuting  the  long  day's  loss, 
The  cedar's  shadow,  slow  and  still, 
Creeps  o  'er  its  dial  of  gray  moss. 


BEAVER   BROOK  10l 

5      Warm  noon  brims  full  the  valley's  cup, 
The  aspen's  leaves  are  scarce  astir; 
Only  the  little  mill  sends  up 
tts  busy,  never-ceasing  burr. 

Climbing  the  loose-piled  wall  that  hems 
10    The  road  along  the  mill-pond's  brink, 
From  'neath  the  arching  barberry-stems 
My  footstep  scares  the  shy  chewink. 

Beneath  a  bony  buttonwood 
The  mill's  .red  door  lets  forth  the  din; 
15    The  whitened  miller,  dust-imbued, 
Flits  past  the  square  of  dark  within. 

No  mountain  torrent's  strength  is  here; 
Sweet  Beaver,  child  of  forest  still, 
Heaps  its  small  pitcher  to  the  ear, 
20     And  gently  waits  the  miller's  will. 

Swift  slips  Undine  along  the  race 
Unheard,  and  then,  with  flashing  bound, 
Floods  the  dull  wheel  with  light  and  grace, 
And,  laughing,  hunts  the  loath  drudge  round. 


102  BEAVER   BROOK 

25    The  miller  dreams  not  at  what  cost 

The  quivering  millstones  hum  and  whirl, 
Nor  how  for  every  turn  are  tost 
Armfuls  of  diamond  and  of  pearl. 

But  Summer  cleared  my  happier  eyes 
30    With  drops  of  some  celestial  juice, 
To  see  how  Beauty  underlies, 
Forevermore  each  form  of  use. 

And  more;  me  thought  I  saw  that  flood, 
Which  now  so  dull  and  darkling  steals, 
35     Thick,  here  and  there,  with  human  blood, 
To  turn  the  world's  laborious  wheels. 

No  more  than  doth  the  miller  there, 
Shut  in  our  several  cells,  do  we 
Know  with  what  waste  of  beauty  rare 
40     Moves  every  day's  machinery. 

Surely  the  wiser  time  shall  come 
When  this  fine  overplus  of  might, 
No  longer  sullen,  slow,  and  dumb, 
Shall  leap  to  music  and  to  light. 


THE    PRESENT    CRISIS  103 

45    In  that  new  childhood  of  the  Earth 
Life  of  itself  .shall  dance  and  play, 
Fresh   blood   in   Time's    shrunk    veins    make 
-*    mirth, 
And  labor  meet  delight  half-way. 

THE  PRESENT  CRISIS 

WHEN  a  deed  is  done  for  Freedom,  through 

the  broad  earth's  aching  breast 
Runs  a  thrill  of  joy  prophetic,  trembling  on 

from  east  to  west, 
And  the  slave,  where'er  he  cowers,  feels  the 

soul  within  him  climb 
To  the  awful  verge  of  manhood,  as  the  energy 

sublime 
5      Of  a  century  bursts    full-blossomed    on    the 

thorny  stem  of  Time. 

Through  the  walls  of  hut  and  palace  shoots 
the  instantaneous  throe, 

When  the  travail  of  the  Ages  wrings  earth's 
systems  to  and  fro; 

At  the  birth  of  each  new  Era,  with  a  recog 
nizing  start, 


104  THE   PRESENT    CRISIS 

Nation  wildly  looks  at  nation,  standing  with 

mute  lips  apart, 

10     And  glad  Truth's  yet  mightier  man-child  leaps 
beneath  the  Future's  heart. 

So  the  Evil's  triumph  sendeth,  with  a  terror 
and  a  chill, 

Under  continent  to  continent,  the  sense  of  com 
ing  ill, 

And  the  slave,  where'er  he  cowers,  feels  his 
sympathies  with  God 

In   hot   tear-drops   ebbing  earthward,    to   be 

drunk  up  by  the  sod, 

15    Till  a  corpse  crawls  round  unburied,  delving 
in  the  nobler  clod. 

For  mankind  are  one  in  spirit,  and  an  instinct 
bears  along, 

Round  the  earth's  electric  circle,  the  swift 
flash  of  right  or  wrong; 

Whether  conscious  or  unconscious,  yet  Human 
ity's  vast  frame 

Through  its  ocean-sundered  fibres  feels  the 
gush  of  joy  or  shame;  — 


THE   PRESENT   CRISIS  105 

20    In  the  gain  or  loss  of  one  race  all  the  rest  have 
equal  claim. 

Once   to   every   man   and  nation   comes   the 
moment  to  decide, 

In  the  strife  of  Truth  with  Falsehood,  for  the 
good  or  evil  side; 

Some  great  cause,  God's  new  Messiah,  offer 
ing  each  the  bloom  or  blight, 

Parts  the  goats  upon  the  left  hand,  and  the 

sheep  upon  the  right, 

25    And  the  choice  goes  by  forever  'twixt  that 
darkness  and  that  light. 

Hast  thou  chosen,   0  my  people,  on  whose 

party  thou  shalt  stand, 
Ere  the  Doom  from  its  worn  sandals  shakes 

the  dust  against  our  land? 
Though  the   cause  of  Evil  prosper,   yet  't  is 

Truth  alone  is  strong, 
And,  albeit  she  wander  outcast  now,  I  see 

around  her  throng 
30    Troops  of  beautiful,   tall  angels,   to  enshield 

her  from  all  wrong. 


106  THE   PRESENT   CRISIS 

Backward  look  across  the  ages  and  the  beacon- 
moments  see, 

That,  like  peaks  of  some  sunk  continent,  jut 
through  Oblivion's  sea; 

Not  an  ear  in  court  or  market  for  the  low 
foreboding  cry 

Of  those  Crises,  God's  stern  winnowers,  from 

whose  feet  earth's  chaff  must  fly; 
35    Never  shows  the  choice  momentous  till  the 
judgment  hath  passed  by. 

Careless   seems   the   great  Avenger;  history's 
pages  but  record 

One  death-grapple  in  the  darkness  'twixt  old 
systems  and  the  Word; 

Truth  forever  on  the  scaffold,  Wrong  forever 
on  the  Throne,  - 

Yet  that  scaffold  sways  the  future,  and,  be 
hind  the  dim  unknown, 

40     Standeth    God    within    the    shadow,    keeping 
watch  above  his  own. 

We  see  dimly  in  the  Present  what  is '  smal' 
and  what  is  great, 


THE   PRESENT    CRISIS  107 

Slow  of  faith  how  weak  an  arm  may  turn  the 

iron  helm  of  fate, 

But  the  soul  is  still  oracular;  amid  the  mar- 
*     ket's  din, 

List  the  ominous  stern  whisper  from  the  Del 
phic  cave  within,  - 

45     "They  enslave  their  children's  children  who 
make  compromise  with  sin." 

Slavery,  the  earth-born  Cyclops,  fellest  of  the 
giant  brood, 

Sons    of    brutish    Force    and    Darkness,    who 
have  drenched  the  earth  with  blood, 

Famished  in  his  self-made  desert,  blinded  by 
our  purer  day, 

Gropes  in  yet  unblasted  regions  for  his  mis 
erable  prey;  - 

50    Shall   we   guide   his   gory   fingers   where   our 
helpless  children  play? 

Then  to  side  with  Truth  is  noble  when  we 

share  her  wretched  crust, 
Ere  her  cause  bring  fame,  and  profit,  and  't  is 

prosperous  to  be  just; 


108  THE  PRESENT   CRISIS 

Then  it  is  the  brave  man  chooses,  while  the 

coward  stands  aside, 
Doubting  in  his  abject  spirit,  till  his  Lord  is 

crucified, 

55    And  the  multitude  make  virtue  of  the  faith 
they  had  denied. 

.Count  me  o  'er  earth's  chosen  heroes,  —  they 

were  souls  that  stood  alone, 
While  the  men  they  agonized  for  hurled  the 

contumelious  stone, 
Stood  serene,  and  down  the  future  saw  the 

golden  beam  incline 
To  the  side  of  perfect  justice,   mastered   by 

their  faith  divine, 
GO     By  one  man's  plain  truth  to  manhood  and  to 

God's  supreme  design. 

By  the  light  of  burning  heretics  Christ's  bleed 
ing  feet  I  track, 

Toiling  up  new  Calvaries  ever  with  the  cross 
that  turns  not  back, 

And  these  mounts  of  anguish  number  how 
each  generation  learned 


THE    PRESENT    CRISIS  109 

One  new  word  of  that  grand  Credo  which  in 

prophet-hearts  hath  burned 

65     Since  the  first  man  stood  God-conquered  with 
his  face  to  heaven  upturned. 

For  Humanity  sweeps  onward:  where  to-day 

the  martyr  stands, 
On  the  morrow  crouches  Judas  with  the  silver 

in  his  hands; 
Far  in  front  the  cross  stands  ready  and  the 

crackling  fagots  burn, 
While  the  hooting  mob  of  yesterday  in  silent 

awe  return 
70     To  glean  up  the  scattered  ashes  into  History's 

golden  um. 

'T  is  as  easy  to  be  heroes  as  to  sit  the  idle 
slaves 

Of  a  legendary  virtue  carved  upon  our  fathers ' 
graves ; 

Worshippers  of  light  ancestral  make  the  pres 
ent  light  a  crime ;  — 

Was  the  Mayflower  launched  by  cowards, 
steered  by  men  behind  their  time? 


110  THE   PRESENT    CRISIS 

75     Turn    those    tracks    toward   Past   or   Future, 
that  make  Plymouth  Rock  sublime? 

They  were  men  of  present  valor,  stalwart  old 
iconoclasts, 

Unconvinced  by  axe  or  gibbet  that  all  virtue 
was  the  Past's; 

But  we  make  their  truth  our  falsehood,  think 
ing  that  hath  made  us  free, 

Hoarding  it  in  mouldy  parchments,  while  our 

tender  spirits  flee 

80    The  rude  grasp  of  that  great  Impulse  which 
drove  them  across  the  sea. 

They  have   rights  who  dare  maintain  them; 
we  are  traitors  to  our  sires, 

Smothering    in    their    holy    ashes    Freedom's 
new-lit  altar-fires; 

Shall  we  make  their  creed  our  jailer?     Shall 
we,  in  our  haste  to  slay, 

From  the  tombs  of  the  old  prophets  steal  the 

funeral  lamps  away 

85    To  light  up  the  martyr-fagots  round  the  pro 
phets  of  to-day? 


Till':   COURT  IN'  111 

New  occasions  teach  new  duties;  Time  makes 
ancient  good  uncouth; 

They   must    upward    still,   and  onward,  who 
»     would  keep  abreast  of  Truth; 

Lo,  before  us  gleam  her  camp-fires!  we  our 
selves  must  Pilgrims  be, 

Launch    our    Mayflower,    and    steer    boldly 

through  the  desperate  winter  sea, 
90    Nor  attempt  the  Future's  portal  with  the  Past's 
blood-rusted  key. 

THE  COURTIN' 

GOD  makes  sech  nights,  all  white  an'  still 

Fur  'z  you  can  look  or  listen, 
Moonshine  an'  snow  on  field  an'  hill, 

All  silence  an'  all  glisten. 

5      Zekle  crep'  up  quite  unbeknown 

An'  peeked  in  thru'  the  winder, 
An'  there  sot  Huldy  all  alone, 
With  no  one  nigh  to  hender. 

A  fireplace  filled  the  room's  one  side 
10        With  half  a  cord  o'  wood  in, — • 


112  THE   COURTIN' 

There  warn't  no  stoves  till  comfort  died, 
To  bake  ye  to  a  puddin'. 

The  wa'nut  logs  shot  sparkles  out 
Toward  the  pootlest,  bless  her! 
15     An'  leetle  flames  danced  all  about 
The  chiny  on  the  dresser. 

Agin  the  chimbley  crook-necks  hung, 

An'  in  amongst  'cm  rusted 
The  ole  queen's-arm  thet  gran'thcr  Young 
20        Fetched  back  from  Concord  busted. 

The  very  room,  coz  she  was  in, 
Seemed  warm  from  floor  to  ceilin'. 

An'  she  looked  full  ez  rosy  agin 
Ez  the  apples  she  was  peelin'. 

25    'T  was  kin'  o'  kingdom-come  to  look 

On  sech  a  blessed  cretur, 
A  dogrosc  blushin'  to  a  brook 
Ain't  modester  nor  sweeter. 

He  was  six  foot  o'  man,  A  1, 
30        Clearn  grit  an'  human  natur'; 


THE   COURT  IN'  113 

None  could  n't  quicker  pitch  a  ton 
Nor  dror  a  furrer  straighter. 

^Re'd  sparked  it  with  full  twenty  gals, 

lied  squired  'em,  danced  'em,  druv  'emf 
35     Fust  this  one,  an'  then  thet,  by  spells, — 
All  is,  he  could  n't  love  'em. 

But  long  o'  her  his  veins  'ould  run 

All  crinkly  like  curled  maple, 
The  side  she  breshed  felt  full  o'  sun 
40        Ez  a  south  slope  in  Ap'il. 

She  thought  no  v'ice  hed  sech  a  swing 

Kz  hisn  in  the  choir; 
My!  when  he  made  Ole  ITunderd  ring, 

She  knowed  the  Lord  was  nigher. 

45    An'  she'd  blush  scarlit,  right  in  prayer. 

When  her  new  meetin'-buimet 
Felt  somehow  thru'  its  crown  a  pair 
0'  blue  eyes  sot  upon  it. 

Thet  night,  I  tell  ye,  she  looked  somel 
GO        She  seemed  to  've  gut  a  new  soul, 


114  THE   COURT  IN' 

For  she  felt  sartin-sure  he'd  come. 
Down  to  her  very  shoe-sole. 

She  heered  a  foot,  an'  knowed  it  tu, 

A-raspin'  on  the  scraper,  - 
55    All  ways  to  once  her  feelins  flew 
Like  sparks  in  burnt-up  paper. 

fie  kin'o'  I'itered  on  the  mat, 
Some  doubtfle  o'  the  sekle, 
His  heart  kep'  goin'  pity-pat, 
60        But  hern  went  pity  Zekle. 

An'  yit  she  gin  her  cheer  a  jerk 
Ez  though  she  wished  him  furder, 

An'  on  her  apples  kep'  to  work, 
Pariii'  away  like  murder. 

65    "You  want  to  see  my  Pa,  I  s'pose?" 

"Wai  ...  no  ...  I  come  designin'" 
"To  see  my  Ma?    She's  sprinklin'  clo'es 
Agin  to-morrer's  i'nin'." 

To  say  why  gals  acts  so  or  so, 
70        Or  don't,  would  be  presumin': 


THE   COURT  IN*  115 

Mebby  to  mean  yes  an'  say  no 
Conies  nateral  to  women. 

»He  stood  a  spell  on  one  foot  fust, 

Then  stood  a  spell  on  t'other, 
75    An'  on  which  one  he  felt  the  wust 
He  could  n't  ha'  told  ye  nuther. 

Says  he,  "I'd  better  call  agin;" 

Says  she,  "Think  like1!}7,  Mister:" 
That  last  word  pricked  him  like  a  pin. 
80        An'  .  .  .  Wai,  he  up  an'  kist  her. 

When  Ma.  bimeby  upon  'em  slips, 

Huldy  sot  pale  ez  ashes, 
All  kin'  o'  smily  roim'  the  lips 

An'  teary  roun'  the  lashes. 

85    For  she  was  jist  the  quiet  kind 

Whose  naturs  never  vary, 
Like  streams  that  keep  a  summer  mind 
Snowhid  in  Jenooary. 

The  blood  clost  roun'  her  heart  felt  glued 
90        Too  tight  for  all  expressing 


116    ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION 

Tell  mother  see  how  metiers  stood, 
An'  gin  'em  both  her  blessin'. 

Then  her  red  come  back  like  the  tide 

Down  to  the  Bay  o'  Fundy, 
95    An'  all  I  know  is  they  was  cried 
In  meetin'  come  nex'  Sunday. 

ODE   RECITED   AT  THE   HARVARD   COM 
MEMORATION 

JULY   21,  1865 
I 

WEAK-WINGED  is  soup;, 
Nor  aims  at  that  clear-ethered  height 
Whither  the  brave  deed  climbs  for  light: 

We  seem  to  do  them  wrong, 
6        Bringing  our  robin's-leaf  to  deck  their  hearse 
Who  in  warm  life-blood  wrote  their  nobler 

verse, 

Our  trivial  song  to  honor  those  who  come 
With  ears  attuned  to  strenuous  trump  and 

drum, 
And  shaped  in  squadron-strophes  their  desire, 


ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION    117 

10      Live  battle-odes  whose  lines  were  steel  and 

fire: 

Yet  sometimes  feathered  words  are  strong, 
*A  gracious  memory  to  buoy  up  and  save 
From  Lethe's  dreamless  ooze,  the  common 

grave 
Of  the  unventurous  throng. 

ii 

15      To-day  our  Reverend  Mother  welcomes  back 
Her  wisest  Scholars,  those  who  understood 
The  deeper  teaching  of  her  mystic  tome, 
And  offered  their  fresh  lives  to  make  it 

good : 

No  lore  of  Greece  or  Rome, 

20      No  science  peddling  with  the  names  of  things, 
Or  reading  stars  to  find  inglorious  fates, 

Can  lift  our  life  with  wings 
Far  from  Death's  idle  gulf  that  for  the  many 

waits, 

And  lengthen  out  our  dates 
25      With  that  clear  fame  whose  memory  sings 
In  manly  hearts  to  come,  and  nerves  them 
and  dilates: 


118     ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEAf  ORATION 

Nor  such  thy  teaching,  Mother  of  us  all! 
Not  such  the  trumpet-call 
Of  thy  diviner  mood, 
30  That  could  thy  sons  entice 

From  happy  homes  and  toils,  the  fruitful  nest 
Of  those  half-virtues  which  the  world  calls 

best, 

Into  War's  tumult  rude; 
But  rather  far  that  stern  device 
36      The  sponsors  chose  that  round  thy  cradle  stood 
In  the  dim,  unventured  wood, 
The  VERITAS  that  lurks  beneath 
The  letter's  unprolific  sheath, 
Life  of  whate'er  makes  life  worth  living, 
40      Seed-grain  of  high  emprise,  immortal  food, 
One   heavenly    thing   whereof   earth   hath 
the  giving. 

in 
Many  loved  Truth,  and  lavished  life's  best  oil 

Amid  the  dust  of  books  to  find  her, 
Content  at  last,  for  guerdon  of  their  toil, 
46          With  the  cast  mantle  she  hath  left  behind 
her. 


ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION    119 

Many  in  sad  faith  sought  for  her, 
Many  with  crossed  hands  sighed  for  her; 
But  these,  our  brothers,  fought  for  her, 
At  life's  dear  peril  wrought  for  her, 
50  So  loved  her  that  they  died  for  her, 

Tasting  the  raptured  fleetness 
Of  her  divine  completeness: 

Their  higher  instinct  knew 
Those  love  her  best  who  to  themselves  are 

true, 

55      And  what  they  dare  to  dream  of,  dare  to  do; 
They  followed  her  and  found  her 
Where  all  may  hope  to  find, 
Not  in  the  ashes  of  the  burnt-out  mind, 
But  beautiful,  with  danger's  sweetness  round 

her. 

60  Where  faith  made  whole  with  deed 

Breathes  its  awakening  breath 
Into  the  lifeless  creed, 
They  saw  her  plumed  and  mailed, 
With  sweet,  stern  face  unveiled, 
66      And  all-repaying  eyes,  look  proud  on  them 
in  death. 


120    ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION 

IV 

Our  slender  life  runs  rippling  by,  and  glides 
Into  the  silent  hollow  of  the  past; 

What  is  there  that  abides 
To  make  the  next  age  better  for  the  last? 
70  Is  earth  too  poor  to.  give  us 

Something  to  live  for  here  that  shall  out 
live  us,— 

Some  more  substantial  boon 
Than  such  as  flows  and  ebbs  with  Fortune's 

fickle  moon? 
The  little  that  we  see 
75  From  doubt  is  never  free; 

The  little  that  we  do 
Is  but  half-nobly  true; 
With  our  laborious  hiving 
What  men  call  treasure,  and  the  gods  call 

dross, 

80          Life  seems  a  jest  of  Fate's  contriving, 
Only  secure  in  every  one's  conniving, 
A  long  account  of  nothings  paid  with  loss, 
Where  we  poor  puppets,  jerked  by  unseen 
wires, 


ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION    121 

After  our  little  hour  of  strut  and  rave, 
85      With  all  our  pasteboard  passions  and  desires, 
Loves,  hates,  ambitions,  and  immortal  fires, 
Are  tossed  pell-mell  together  in  the  grave. 

Ah,  there  is  something  here 
Unfathomed  by  the  cynic's  sneer, 
90          Something  that  gives  our  feeble  light 
A  high  immunity  from  Night, 
Something  that  leaps  life's  narrow  bars 
To   claim   its   birthright   with   the   hosts   of 

heaven; 

A  seed  of  sunshine  that  doth  leaven 
95      Our  earthly  dulness  with  the  beams  of  stars, 

And  glorify  our  clay 
With   light   from   fountains   elder   than   the 

Day; 

A  conscience  more  divine  than  we, 
A  gladness  fed  with  secret  tears, 
100        A  vexing,  forward-reaching  sense 
Of  some  more  noble  permanence; 

A  light  across  the  sea, 
Which  haunts  the  soul  and  will  not  let  it  be, 
Still  glimmering  from  the  heights  of  unde- 
generate  years. 


122     ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION 

V 

105  Whither  leads  the  path 

To  ampler  fates  that  leads? 
Not  down  through  flowery  meads, 
To  reap  an  aftermath 
Of  youth's  vainglorious  weeds, 
l'L®  But  up  the  steep,  amid  the  wrath 

And  shock  of  deadly  hostile  creeds, 
Where  the  world's  best  hope  and  stay 
By  battle's  flashes  gropes  a  desperate  way, 
And  every  turf  the  fierce  foot  clings  to  bleeds 
Peace  hath  her  not  ignoble  wreath, 
Ere  yet  the  sharp,  decisive  word 
Lights  the  black  lips  of  cannon,  and  the  sword 

Dreams  in  its  easeful  sheath; 
But  some  day  the  live  coal  behind  the  thought, 
Whether  from  Baal's  stone  obscene, 
Or  from  the  shrine  serene 
Of  Cod's  pure  altar  brought, 
Bursts  up  in  flame;  the  war  of  tongue  and  pen 
Learns    with    what    deadly  purpose    it   was 

fraught, 
And,  helpless  in  the  fiery  passion  caught, 


ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION    123 

Shakes  all  the  pillared  state  with  shock  of  men : 
Some  day  the  soft  Ideal  that  we  wooed 
Confronts  us  fiercely,  foe-beset,  pursued, 
And   cries  reproachful:  "Was  it,   then,   my 

praise, 
130    And  not  myself  was  loved?    Prove  now  thy 

truth; 

I  claim  of  thee  the  promise  of  thy  youth; 
Give  me  thy  life,  or  cower  in  empty  phrase, 
The  victim  of  thy  genius,  not  its  mate!" 

Life  may  be  given  in  many  ways, 
135        And  loyalty  to  Truth  be  sealed 
As  bravely  in  the  closet  as  the  field, 
So  generous  is  Fate; 
But  then  to  stand  beside  her, 
When  craven  churls  deride  her, 
140    To  front  a  lie  in  arms  and  not  to  yield, — 
This  shows,  rnethinks,  God's  plan 
And  measure  of  a  stalwart  man, 
Limbed  like  the  old  heroic  breeds, 
Who  stands  self-poised  on  manhood's  solid 

earth, 

145        Not  forced  to  frame  excuses  for  his  birth, 
Fed  from  within  with  all  the  strength  he  needs. 


124    ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION 

VI 

Such  was  he,  our  Martyr-Chief, 

Whom  late  the  Nation  he  had  led, 
With  ashes  on  her  head, 

150    Wept  with  the  passion  of  an  angry  grief:     . 
Forgive  me,  if  fr^m  present  things  I  turn 
To  speak  what  in  my  heart  will  beat  and  burn, 
And  hang  my  wreath  on  his  world-honored  urn. 

Nature,  they  say,  doth  dote, 
155  And  cannot  make  a  man 

Save  on  some  worn-out  plan, 
Repeating  us  by  rote: 
For  him  her  Old-World    mould    aside   she 

threw, 

And,  choosing  sweet  clay  from  the  breast 
160  Of  the  unexhausted  West, 

With  stuff  untainted  shaped  a  hero  new, 
Wise,  steadfast  in  the  strength  of  God,  and 

true. 

How  beautiful  to  see 

Once  more  &  shepherd  of  mankind  indeed, 
165    Who  loved  his  charge,  but  never  loved  to  lead; 
One  whose  meek  flock  the  people  joyed  to  be, 


ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION    125 

Not  lured  by  any  cheat  of  birth, 
But  by  his  clear-grained  human  worth, 
And  brave  old  wisdom  of  sincerity! 
170    *       They  knew  that  outward  grace  is  dust; 

They  could  not  choose  but  trust 
In  that  sure-footed  mind's  unfaltering  skill, 

And  supple-tempered  will 
That  bent  like  perfect  steel  to  spring  again 

and  thrust. 
175  Nothing  of  Europe  here, 

Or,  then,  of  Europe  fronting  morn-ward  still, 

Ere  any  names  of  Serf  and  Peer 
Could  Nature's  equal  scheme  deface; 
Here  was  a  type  of  the  true  elder  race, 
ISO    And  one  of  Plutarch's  men   talked  with  us 

face  to  face. 

I  praise  him  not;  it  were  too  late; 
And  some  innative  weakness  there  must  be 
In  him  who  condescends  to  victory 
Such  as  the  Present  gives,  and  cannot  wait, 
185  Safe  in  himself  as  in  a  fate. 

So  always  firmly  he: 
He  knew  to  bide  his  time, 
And  can  his  fame  abide, 


126     ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION 

Still  patient  in  his  simple  faith  sublime, 
190  Till  the  wise  years  decide. 

Great  captains,  with  their  guns  and  drums, 
Disturb  our  judgment  for  the  hour, 

But  at  last  silence  comes; 
These  all  are  gone,  and,  standing  like  a 

tower, 
195        Our  children  shall  behold  his  fame, 

The  kindly-earnest,  brave,  foreseeing  man, 
Sagacious,  patient,  dreading  praise,  not  blame, 
New  birth  of  our  new  soil,  the  first  Ameri 
can. 

VII 

Long  as  man's  hope  insatiate  can  discern 
200  Or  only  guess  some  more  inspiring  goal 

Outside  of  Self,  enduring  as  the  pole, 
Along  whose  course  the  flying  axles  burn 
Of  spirits  bravely-pitched,  earth's  manlier 

brood; 

Long  as  below  we  cannot  find 
205        The  meed  that  stills  the  inexorable  mind: 
So  long  this  faith  to  some  ideal  Good, 
Under  whatever  mortal  names  it  masks, 


ODK  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION     127 

Freedom,  Law,  Country,  this  ethereal  mood 
That  thanks  the  Fates  for  their  severer  tasks, 
210        Feeling  its  challenged  pulses  leap, 

^  While  others  skulk  in  subterfuges  cheap, 
And,  set  in  Danger's  van,  has  all  the  boon  it 

asks, 

Shall  win  man's  praise  and  woman's  \ove} 
Shall  be  a  wisdom  that  we  set  above 
215  .All  other  skills  and  gifts  to  culture  dear, 

A   virtue   round   whose   forehead   we   en- 
wreathe 

Laurels  that  with  a  living  passion  breathe 

When  other  crowns  are  cold  and  soon  grow  sere. 

What  brings  us  thronging  these  high  rites 

to  pay, 

220     And  seal  these  hours  the  noblest  of  our  year, 
Save  that  our  brothers  found  this  better 
way? 

VIII 

We  sit  here  in  the  Promised  Land 
That  flows  with  Freedom's  honey  and  milk. 

But  't  was  they  won  it,  sword  in  hand, 
225     Making  the  nettle  danger  soft  for  us  as  silk. 


128    ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION 

We   welcome   back   our   bravest   and   our 

best;  - 
Ah  me!  not  all!  some  come  not  with  the 

rest, 

Who  went  forth  brave  and  bright  as  any  here ! 
I  strive  to  imx  so:ne  gladness  with  my  strain, 
230  But  the  sad  strings  complain, 

And  will  not  please  the  ear; 
I  sweep  them  for  a  prcan,  but  they  wane 

Again  and  yet  again 
Into  a  dirge,  and  die  away  in  pain. 
235     In  these  brave  ranks  I  only  see  the  gaps, 
Thinking  of  dear  ones  whom  the  dumb  turf 

wraps, 

Dark  to  the  triumph  which  they  died  to  gain: 
Fitlier  may  others  greet  the  living, 
For  me  the  past  is  unforgiving; 
240  I  with  uncovered  head 

Salute  the  sacred  dead, 

Who  went,  and  who  return  not.  —  Say  not  so! 
Tis  not  the  grapes  of  Canaan  that  repay, 
But  the  high  faith  that  failed  not  by  the  way; 
245     Virtue  treads  paths  that  end  not  in  the  grave; 
No  ban  of  endless  night  exiles  the  brave; 


ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION     129 

And  to  the  saner  mind 

We  rather  seem  the  dead  that  stayed  behind. 

Blow,   trumpets,   all  your  exultations  blow! 
250     Pbr  never  shall  their  aureoled  presence  lack: 

I  see  them  muster  in  a  gleaming  row, 

With  ever-youthful  brows  that  nobler  show; 

We  find  in  our  dull  road  their  shining  track; 

In  every  nobler  mood 
255     We  feel  the  orient  of  their  spirit  glow, 

Part  of  our  life's  unalterable  good, 

Of  all  our  saintlier  aspiration; 

They  come  transfigured  back, 

Secure  from  change  in  their  high-hearted  ways, 
200     Beautiful  evermore,  and  with  the  rays 

Of  morn  on  their  white  Shields  of  Expectation! 

IX 

Who  now  shall  sneer? 
Who  dare  again  to  say  we  trace 
Our  lines  to  a  plebeian  race? 
265  Roundhead  and  Cavalier! 

Dreams  are  those  names  erewhile  in  battle 

loud; 
Forceless  as  is  the  shadow  of  a  cloud, 


130   ODE  RECITED   AT   HARVARD   COMMEMORATION 

They  live  but  in  the  ear: 
That  is  best  blood  that  hath  most  iron  in  't, 
270    To  edge  resolve  with,  pouring  without  stint 
For  what  makes  manhood  dear. 
Tell  us  not  of  Plantagenets, 
Ilapsburgs,    and   Guelfs,    whose   thin  bloods 

crawl 

Down  from  some  victor  in  a  border-brawl! 
275  How  poor  their  outworn  coronets, 

Matched  with   one  leaf  of   that   plain   civic 

wreath 

Our  brave  for  honor's  blazon  shall  bequeath, 
Through  whose  desert  a  rescued  Nation  sets 
Her  heel  on  treason,  and  the  trumpet  hears 
280     Shout  victory,   tingling  Europe's  sullen  ears 
With  vain  resentments  and  more  vain  re 
grets  ! 

x 

Not  in  anger,  not  in  pride, 
Pure  from  passion's  mixture  rude, 
Ever  to  base  earth  allied, 
285  But  with  far-heard  gratitude, 

Still  with  heart  and  voice  renewed, 


ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION    131 

To  heroes  living  and  dear  martyrs  dead, 
The  strain  should  close  that  consecrates  our 

brave. 

*  Lift  the  heart  and  lift  the  head! 
290  Lofty  1)0  its  mood  and  grave, 

Not  without  a  martial  ring, 
Not  without  a  prouder  tread 
And  a  peal  of  exultation: 
Little  right  has  he  to  sing 
295  Through  whose  heart  in  such  an  hour 

Beats  no  march  of  conscious  power, 
Sweeps  no  tumult  of  elation! 
'Tis  no  Man  we  celebrate, 
By  his  country's  victories  great, 
300        A  hero  half,  and  half  the  whim  of  Fate, 
But  the  pith  and  marrow  of  a  Nation 
Drawing  force  from  all  her  men, 
Highest,  humblest,  weakest,  all,  — 
Pulsing  it  again  through  them, 
305    Till  the  basest  can  no  longer  cower, 
Feeling  his  soul  spring  up  divinely  tall, 
Touched  but  in  passing  by  her  mantle-hem. 
Come  back,   then,   noble  pride,   for   'tis  her 
dower ! 


132    ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION 

How  could  poet  ever  tower, 
310  If  his  passions,  hopes,  and  fears, 

If  his  triumphs  and  his  tears, 
Kept  not  measure  witli  his  people? 
Boom,  cannon,  boom  to  all  the  winds  and 

waves ! 
Clash    out,    glad    bells,    from    every   rocking 

steeple! 
315     Banners,  advance  with    triumph,  bend   your 

staves ! 

And  from  every  mountain-peak 
Let  beacon-fire  to  answering  beacon  speak, 
Katahdin    tell   Monadnock,   Whileface   he, 
And  so  leap  on  in  light  from  sea  to  sea, 
320  Till  the  glad  news  bo  sent 

Across  a  kindling  continent, 
Making  earth  feel  more  firm  and  air  breathe 

braver : 
"Be  proud!  for  she  is  saved,  and  all  have 

helped  to  save  her! 

She  that  lifts  up  the  manhood  of  the  poor, 
325        She  of  the  open  soul  and  open  door, 

With  room  about  her  hearth  for  all  man 
kind! 


ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVAED  COMMEMORATION     133 

The  helm  from  her  bold  front  she  doth  un 
bind, 

Sends  all  her  handmaid  armies  back  to  spin, 

330         And  bids  her  navies  hold  their  thunders  in. 

No  challenge  sends  she  to  the  elder  world, 

That  looked   askance   and  hated;   a  light 

scorn 
Plays  on  her  mouth,  as  round  her  mighty 

knees 
She  calls  her  children  back,  and  waits  the 

morn 

335     Of  nobler  day,  enthroned  between  her  sub 
ject  seas." 

XI 

Bow  down,  dear  Land,  for  thou  hast  found 

release ! 

Thy  God,  in  these  distempered  days, 
Hath  taught  thec  the  sure  wisdom  of  His 

ways, 
And  through  thine  enemies  hath  wrought  thy 

peace! 
340  Bow  down  in  prayer  and  praise! 

0  Beautiful!  my  Country!  ours  once  more! 


134    ODE  RECITED  AT  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION 

Smoothing  thy  gold  of  war-dishevelled  hair 
O'er  such  sweet  brows  as  never  other  wore, 

And  letting  thy  set  lips, 
345  Froed  from  wrath's  pale  eclipse, 

The  rosy  edges  of  their  smile  lay  bare, 
What  words  divine  of  lover  or  of  *poet 
Could  tell  our  love  and  make  thee  know  it, 
Among  the  Nations  bright  beyond  compare? 
350  What  were  our  lives  without  thee? 

What  all  our  lives  to  save  thee? 

We  reck  not  what  we  gave  thee; 

We  will  not  dare  to  doubt  thee, 
But  ask  whatever  else,  and  wre  will  dare! 


NOTES 


THE   VISION  OF  SIR  LAUXFAL 

I.  The  Musing  organist:  There  is  a  peculiar  felicity  in 
this  musical  introduction.  The  poem  is  like  an  improvisa 
tion,  and  was  indeed  composed  much  as  a  musician  impro 
vises,  with  swift  grasp  of  the  subtle  suggestions  of  musical 
tones.  It  is  a  dream,  an  elaborate  and  somewhat  tangled 
metaphor,  full  of  hidden  meaning  for  the  accordant  mind, 
and  the -poet  appropriately  gives  it  a  setting  of  music,  the 
most  symbolic  of  all  the  arts.  It  is  an  allegory,  like  any  one 
of  the  adventures  in  the  Fnirie  Queen,  and  from  the  very  be 
ginning  the  reader  must  be  alive  to  the  symbolic  meaning, 
upon  which  Lowell,  unlike  Spenser,  places  chief  emphasis, 
rather  than  upon  the  narrative.  Compare  the  similar  mu 
sical  device  in  Browning's  Abt  Voylcr  and  Adelaide  Proctor's 
Lost  Chord. 

6.  Theme:  The   theme,    subject,    or   underlying   thought 
of  the  poem  is  expressed  in  line  12  below: 

"  We  Sinais  climb  and  know  it  not;  " 

or  more  comprehensively  in  the  group  of  four  lines  of  which 
this  is  the  conclusion.  The  organist's  fingers  wander  list 
lessly  over  the  keys  at  first;  then  come  forms  and  figures 
from  out  of  dreamland  over  the  bridge  of  his  careless  melody, 
and  gradually  the  vision  takes  consistent  and  expressive 
shape.  So  the  poet  comes  upon  his  central  subject,  or  theme, 
shaped  from  Ills  wandering  thought  and  imagination. 

7.  Auroral   flushes:  Like  the  first  faint  glimmerings    of 
light  in  the  East  that  point  out  the  pathway  of  the  rising 

135 


136  NOTES 

sun,  the  uncertain,  wavering  outlines  of  the  poet's  vision 
precede  the  perfected  theme  that  is  drawing  near. 

9.  Not  only  around  our  infancy,  etc.:  The  allusion  is  to 
Wordsworth's  Ode  on  the  Intimations  of  Immortality,  espe 
cially  these  lines: 

"  Heave*   lies  about  us  in  our  infancy! 
Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  Boy, 
But  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows, 

He  sees  it  in  his  joy; 
The  Youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 

Must  travel,  still  is  Nature's  Priest, 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended; 
At  length  the  Man  perceives  it  die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day." 

As  Lowell's  central  theme  is  so  intimately  associated  with 
that  of  Wordsworth's  poem,  if  not  directly  suggested  by  it, 
the  two  poems  should  be  read  together  and  compared.  Lowell 
maintains  that  "  heaven  lies  about  us  "  not  only  in  our  in 
fancy,  but  at  all  times,  if  only  we  have  the  soul  to  compre 
hend  it. 

12.  We  Sinais  climb,  etc.:  Mount  Sinai  was  the  moun 
tain  in  Arabia  on  which  Moses  talked  with  (!od  (Exodus 
xix,  xx).  Clod's  miracles  arc  taking  place  about  us  all  the 
time,  if  only  we  can  emancipate  our  souls  sufficiently  to  see 
them.  From  out  of  our  materialized  daily  lives  we  may 
rise  at  any  moment,  if  we  will,  to  ideal  and  spiritual  things. 
Tn  a  letter  to  his  nephew  Lowell  says:  "  This  same  name  of 
God  is  written  all  over  the  world  in  little  phenomena  that 
occur  under  our  eyes  every  moment,  and  I  confess  that  I 
feel  very  much  inclined  to  hang  my  head  with  Pizarro  when 
I  cannot  translate  those  hieroglyphics  into  my  own  vernac 
ular."  (Letters,  I,  164). 


NOTES  137 

Compare  the  following  passage  in  the  poem  Bibliolatres: 

"  If  thou  hast  wanderings  in  the  wilderness 
And  find'st  not  Sinai,  't  is  thy  soul  is  poor; 
There  towers  the  Mountain  of  the  Voice  no  less, 
*    Which  whoso  seeks  shall  find,  but  he  who  bends, 
Intent  on  manna  still  and  mortal  ends, 
Sees  it  not,  neither  hears  its  thundered  lore." 

15.  Prophecies:  Prophecy  is  not  only  prediction,  but 
also  any  inspired  discourse  or  teaching.  Compare  the  follow 
ing  lines  from  the  poem  Freedom,  written  the  same  year: 

"  Are  we,  then,  wholly  fallen?     Can  it  be 
That  thou,  North  wind,  that  from  thy  mountains  bringest 
Their  spirit  to  our  plains,  and  thou,  blue  sea, 
Who  on  our  rocks  thy  wreaths  of  freedom  flingest, 
As  on  an'  altar,  —  can  it  be  that  ye 
Have  wasted  inspiration  on  dead  ears, 
Dulled  with  the  too  familiar  clank  of  chains?  " 

At  the  end  of  this  poem  Lowell  gives  his  view  of  "  fallen 
and  traitor  lives."  He  speaks  of  the  "  boundless  future  " 
of  our  country  — 

"  Ours  if  we  be  strong; 
Or  if  we  shrink,  better  remount  our  ships 
And,  fleeing  God's  express  design,  trace  back 
The  hero-freighted  Mayflower's  prophet-track 
To  Europe  entering  her  blood-red  eclipse." 

While  reading  Sir  Launjal  the  fact  must  be  kept  in  mind 
that  Lowell  was  at  the  time  of  writing  the  poem  filled  with 
the  spirit  of  freedom  and  reform,  and  was  writing  fiery  ar 
ticles  in  prose  for  the  Anti-Slavery  Standard,  expressing  his 
bitter  indignation  at  the  indifference  and  lukewarnmess  of 
the  Northern  people  on  the  subject  of  slavery. 

17.  Druid  wood:  The  Druids  were  the  aged  priests  of 
the  Celts,  who  performed  their  religious  ceremonies  in  the 


138  NOTES 

forests,  especially  among  oaks,  which  were  peculiarly  sacred 
to  them.  Hence  the  venerable  woods,  like  the  aged  priests, 
offer  their  benediction.  Every  power  of  nature,  the  winds, 
the  mountain,  the  wood,  the  sea,  has  a  symbolic  meaning 
which  we  should  be  able  to  interpret  for  our  inspiration  and 
uplifting.  Read  Bryant's  A  Forest  lli/mn. 

18.  Benedicite:  An  invocation  of  blessing.  Imperative 
form  of  the  Latin  benedicere,  to  bless.  Longfellow  speaks 
of  the  power  of  songs  that  — 

"  Come  like  the  benediction 
That  follows  after  prayer." 

19-20.  Compare  these  lines  with  the  ninth  strophe  of 
Wordsworth's  Ode.  The  "  inspiring  sea  "  is  Wordsworth's 
"  immortal  sea."  Both  poets  rejoice  that  some  of  the  im 
pulses  and  ideals  of  youth  are  kept  alive  in  old  age. 

21.  Earth  gets  its  price,  etc.:  Notice  the  special  meaning 
given  to  Earth  here,  in  contrast  with  heaven  in  line  21).  Here 
again  the  thought  is  suggested  by  Wordsworth's  Ode,  sixth 
strophe: 

"  Earth  fills  our  lap  with  pleasures  of  her  own." 

23.  Shrives:  The  priest  shrives  one  when  he  hears  con 
fession  and  grants  absolution. 

25.  Devil's  booth:  Expand  this  metaphor  and  unfold 
its  application  to  cvery-day  life. 

27.  Cap  and  bells:  The  conventional  dress  of   the   court 
fool,  or  jester,  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and,  after  him,  of  the  stage 
clown,  consisted  of  the  "  fool's  cap  "  and  suit  of  motley,  orna 
mented  with  little  tinkling  bells. 

28.  Bubbles  we  buy,  etc.:  This  line,  as  first  published, 
had  "  earn  "  for  "  buy." 

31.  This  line  read  originally:  "  There  is  no  price  set," 
etc.  The  next  line  began  with  "  And." 

32-95.  This  rapturous  passage  descriptive  of  June  is  un 
questionably  the  most  familiar  and  most  celebrated  piece 


NOTES  139 

of  nature  poetry  in  our  literature.  Tt  is  not  only  beautiful 
and  inspiring  in  its  felicitous  phrasings  of  external  nature, 
but  it  is  especially  significant  as  a  true  expression  of  the  heart 
and  soul  of  the  poet  himself.  It  was  always  "  the  high-tide 
of  the  year  "  with  Lowell  in  June,  when  his  spirits  were  in 
fine  accord  with  the  universal  joy  of  nature.  Wherever 
in  his  poetry  he  refers  to  spring  and  its  associations,  he  al 
ways  expresses  the  same  ecstasy  of  delight.  The  passage 
must  be  compared  with  the  opening  lines  of  Under  the  Wil 
lows  (which  he  at  first  named  A  June  Idyll): 

"  June  is  the  pearl  of  our  New  England  year. 
Still  a  surprisal,  though  expected  long, 
Her  coming  startles.     Long  she  lies  in  wait, 
Makes  many  a  feint,  peeps  forth,  draws  coyly  back, 
Then,  from  some  southern  ambush  in  the  sky, 
With  one  great  gush  of  blossom  storms  the  world,"  etc. 

And  in  Sunthin'  in  the  Pastoral  Line  the  coming  of  spring 
is  delightfully  pictured: 

"  Our  Spring  gets  everything  in  tune 
An'  gives  one  leap  from  April  into  June,"  etc. 

In  a  letter  written  in  June,  1867,  Lowell  says:  "  There 
never  is  such  a  season,  and  that  shows  what  a  poet  God  is. 
He  says  the  same  thing  over  to  us  so  often  and  always  new. 
Here  I've  been  reading  the  same  poem  for  near  half  a  century, 
and  never  had  a  notion  what  the  buttercup  in  the  third 
stanza  meant  before." 

It  is  worth  noting  that  Lowell's  happy  June  corresponds 
to  May  in  the  English  poets,  as  in  Wordsworth's  Ode: 

"  With  the  heart  of  May 
Doth  every  beast  keep  holiday." 

In  New  England  where  "  Northern  natur  "  is  "  slow  an'  apt 
to  doubt," 


140  NOTES 

"  May  is  a  pious  fraud  of  the  almanac." 
or  a.s  Hosea  Biglow  says: 

"  Half  our  May  is  so  awfully  like  May  n't, 
T  would  rile  a  Shaker  or  an  evrige  saint." 

41.  Tho    original    edition    has    "  grasping  "    instead    of 
"  groping." 

42.  Climbs  to  a  soul,  etc.:  In  his  intimate  sympathy  with 
nature,  Lowell  endows  her  forms  with  conscious  life,  as  Words 
worth  did,  who  says  in  Lines  Written  in  Early  Spring: 

"  And  't  is  my  faith  that  every  flower 
Enjoys  the  air  it  breathes." 

So  Lowell  in  The  Cathedral  says: 

"  And  I  believe  the  brown  earth  takes  delight 
In  the  new  snow-drop  looking  back  at  her, 
To  think  that  by  some  vernal  alchemy 
It  could  transmute  her  darkness  into  pearl." 

So  again  he  says  in  Under  the  Willows: 

"  I  in  June  am  midway  to  believe 
A  tree  among  my  far  progenitors, 
Such  sympathy  is  mine  with  all  the  race, 
Such  mutual  recognition  vaguely  sweet 
There  is  between  us." 

It  must  be  remembered  that  this  humanizing  of  nature  is 
an  attitude  toward  natural  objects  characteristic  only  of 
modern  poetry,  being  practically  unknown  in  English 
poetry  before  the  period  of  Burns  and  Wordsworth. 

45.  The  cowslip  startles:  Surprises  the  eye  with  its  bright 
patches  of  green  sprinkled  with  golden  blossoms.  Cowslip 
is  the  common  name  in  New  England  for  the  marsh-mari 
gold,  which  appears  early  in  spring  in  low  wet  meadows,  and 


NOTES  141 

furnishes  not  infrequently  a  savory  "  mess  of  greens  "  for 
the  fanner's  dinner-table. 

46.     Compare  Al  Fresco,  lines  34-39: 

%        "  The  rich,  milk-tingeing  buttercup 
Its  tiny  polished  urn  holds  up, 
Filled  with  ripe  summer  to  the  edge, 
The  sun  in  his  own  wine  to  pledge." 

50.     Nice:  Delicately  discriminating. 

62.     This  line  originally  read  "  because  God  so  wills  it." 
71.      Maize  has  sprouted:  There  is  an  anxious  period  for 
the  farmer  after  his  corn  is  planted,  for  if  the  spring  is  "  back 
ward"  and  the  weather  cold,  his  seed  may  decay  in  the  ground 
before  sprouting. 

73.  So  .  in  SinitJiin'  in  the,  Pastond  Line,  when  robin- 
redbreast  sees  the  "  hossches'nuts'  leetle  hands  unfold  "  he 
knows  — 

"  Thet  arter  this  ther'  's  only  blossom-snows; 
So,  choosin'  out  a  handy  crotch  an'  spouse, 
Ikj  goes  to  plast'rin'  his  adobe  house." 

77.  Note  the  happy  effect  of  the  internal  rhyme  in  this 
line. 

93.  Healed  with  snow:  Explain  the  appropriateness  of 
the  metaphor. 

94-95.  Is  the  transition  here  from  the  prelude  to  the 
story  abrupt,  or  do  the  preceding  lines  lead  up  to  it  appro 
priately?  Just  why  does  Sir  Launfal  now  remember  hi? 
vow?  Do  these  lines  introduce  the  "  theme  "  that  the 
musing  organist  has  finally  found  in  dreamland,  or  the  sym 
bolic  illustration  of  his  theme? 

97.  Richest  mail:  The  knight's  coat  of  mail  was  usually 
of  polished  steel,  often  richly  decorated  writh  inlaid  patterns 
of  gold  and  jewels.  To  serve  his  high  purpose,  Sir  Launfal 
brings  forth  his  most  precious  treasures. 


142  NOTES 

99.  Holy  Grail:  According  to  medieval  legend,  the  San- 
greal  was  the  cup  or  chalice,  made  of  emerald,  which  was 
used  by  Christ  at  the  last  supper,  and  in  which  Joseph  of 
Arimathea  caught  the  last  drops  of  Christ's  blood  when  he 
was  taken  down  from  the  cross.  The  quest  of  the  Grail  is 
the  central  theme  of  the  Arthurian  Romances.  Tennyson's 
Holy  Grail  should  be  read,  and  the  student  should  also  be 
made  familiar  with  the  beautiful  versions  of  the  legend  in 
Abbey's  series  of  irmral  paintings  in  the  Boston  Public 
Library,  and  in  Wagner's  Parsifal. 

103.  On  the  rushes:  In  ancient  halls  and  castles  the  floors 
were  commonly  strewn  with  rushes.  In  Taming  of  the  Shrew, 
when  preparing  for  the  home-coming  of  Petruchio  and  his 
bride,  Grumio  says:  "  Is  supper  ready,  the  house  trimmed, 
rushes  strewed,  cobwebs  swept?  " 

109.  The  crows  flapped,  etc. :  Suggestive  of  the  quiet, 
heavy  flight  of  the  crow  in  a  warm  day.  The  beginning  and 
the  end  of  the  stanza  suggest  drowsy  quiet.  The  vision 
begins  in  this  stanza.  The  nature  pictures  are  continued, 
but  with  new  symbolical  meaning. 

114.  Like  an  outpost  of  whiter:  The  cold,  gloomy  castle 
stands  in  st.rdng  contrast  to  the  surrounding  landscape  filled 
with  the  joyous  sunshine  of  summer.  So  the  proud  knight's 
heart  is  still  inaccessible  to  true  charity  and  warm  human 
sympathy.  So  aristocracy  in  its  power  and  pride  stands 
aloof  from  democracy  with  its  humility  and  aspiration  for 
human  brotherhood.  This  stanza  is  especially  figurative. 
The  poet  is  unfolding  the  main  theme,  the  underlying  moral 
purpose,  of  the  whole  poem,  but  it  is  still  kept  in  vague, 
dreamy  symbolism. 

116.  North  Countree:  The  north  of  England,  the  home 
of  the  border  ballads.  This  form  of  the  word  "  countree," 
with  accent  on  the  last  syllable,  is  common  in  the  old  ballads. 
Here  it  gives  a  flavor  of  antiquity  in  keeping  with  the  story. 

122.  Pavilions  tall:  The  trees,  as  in  line  125,  the  broad 
green  tents.  Note  how  the  military  figure,  beginning  with 


NOTES  143 

"  outposts,"  in  line  115,  is  continued  and  developed  through 
out  the  stun/a,  and  reverted  to  in  the  word  "  siege  "  in  the 
next  stun/a. 

130.  Maiden  knight:  A  young,  untried,  unpracticed 
knight.  The  expression  occurs  in  Tennyson's  Sir  Galahad. 
So  "  maiden  mail  "  below. 

1157.  As  a  locust-leaf:  The  small  delicate  leaflets  of  the  com 
pound  locust  -leaf  seem  always  in  a  "  lightsome"  movement. 

138.     The  original  edition  has  "  unscarred  mail." 

138   13!).     Compare  the  last  lines  of  Tennyson's  Sir  Cal- 


"  By  bridge  and  ford,  by  park  and  pale, 
All-armed  I  ride,  whate'er  betide, 
Until  I  find  the  Holy  drail." 

147.  Made  morn:  Let  in  the  morning,  or  came  into  the 
full  morning  light  as  the  huge  gate  opened. 

148.  Leper:  Why  did  the  poet  make  the  crouching  beg 
gar  a  leper? 

152.  For  "  gan  shrink  "  the  original  has  "  did  shrink." 
155.  Bent  of  stature:  Criticise  this  phrase. 
15S.  So  he  tossed  ...  in  scorn:  This  is  the  turning- 
point  of  the  moral  movement  of  the  story.  Sir  Launfal  at 
the  very  beginning  makes  his  fatal  mistake;  his  noble  spirit 
and  lofty  purposes  break  down  with  the  first  test.  He  re 
fuses  to  see  a  brother  in  the  loathsome  leper;  the  light  and 
warmth  of  human  brotherhood  had  not  yet  entered  his  soul, 
just  as  the  summer  sunshine  had  not  entered  the  frowning 
castle.  The  regeneration  of  his  soul  must  be  worked  out 
through  wandering  and  suffering.  Compare  the  similar 
plot  of  the  Ancient  Mariner. 

163.  No  true  alms:  The  alms  must  also  be  in  the  heart. 

164.  Originally  "  He  gives  nothing  but  worthless  gold." 
166.     Slender    mite:  An    allusion    to    the    widow's    "two 

mites."      (Luke  xxi,  1-4.) 

168.     The  all-sustaining  Beauty:  The  all-pervading  spirit 
of  God  that  unites  all  things  in  one  sympathetic  whole.     This 


144  NOTES 

divinity  in  humanity  is  its  highest  beauty.     In   The  Oak 
Lowell  says: 

"  Lord!  all  thy  works  are  lessons;  each  contains 
Some  emblem  of  man's  all-containing  soul." 

172.  A  god  goes  with  it:  The  god-like  quality  of  real 
charity,  of  heart  to  hearf.  sympathy.  In  a  letter  written  a 
little  after  the  compositi  m  of  this  poem  Lowell  speaks  of 
love  and  freedom  as  being  "  the  sides  which  Beauty  pre 
sented  to  him  then." 

172.     Store:  Plenty,  abundance. 

175.  Summers:  What  is  gained  by  the  use  of  this  word 
instead  of  winters? 

176.  Wold:  A  high,  open  and  ban-en  field  that  catches 
the  full  sweep  of  the  wind.     The  "  wolds  "  of  north  England 
are  like  the  "  downs  "  of  the  south. 

181.  The  little  brook:  In  a  letter  written  in  December, 
1S48,  Lowell  says:  "  Last  night  I  walked  to  Watertown  over 
the  snow  with  the  new  moon  before  me  and  a  sky  exactly 
like  that  in  Page's  evening  landscape.  Orion  was  rising 
behind  me,  and,  as  I  stood  on  the  hill  just  before  you  enter 
the  village,  the  stillness  of  the  fields  around  me  was  delicious, 
broken  only  by  the  tinkle  of  a  little  brook  which  runs  too 
swiftly  for  Frost  to  catch  it.  My  picture  of  the  brook  in 
Sir  Launfal  was  drawn  from  it."  See  the  poem  Beaver 
Brook  (originally  called  The  Mill),  and  the  winter  picture  in 
An  Indian-Summer  Reverie,  lines  148-196. 

184.  Groined:  Groined  arches  are  formed  by  the  inter 
section  of  two  arches  crossing  at  any  angle,  forming  a  ribbed 
vault;  a  characteristic  feature  of  Gothic  architecture. 

190.  Forest-crypt:  The  crypt  of  a  church  is  the  basement, 
filled  with  arched  pillars  that  sustain  the  building.  The 
cavern  of  the  brook,  as  the  poet  will  have  us  imagine  it,  is 
like  this  subterranean  crypt,  where  the  pillars  are  like  trees 
and  the  groined  arches  like  interlacing  branches,  decorated 
with  frost  leaves.  The  poet  seems  to  have  had  in  mind 


NOTES  145 

throughout  the  description  the  interior  of  the  Gothic  cathe 
drals,  as  shown  by  the  many  suggestive  terms  used, 
"  groined,"  "  crypt,"  "  aisles,"  "  fretwork,"  and  "  carvings." 

193.  Fretwork:  The  ornamental  work  carved  in  intri 
cate  patterns,  in  oak  or  stone,  on  the  ceilings  of  old  halls 
and  churches. 

](.)~).  Sharp  relief:  When  a  figure  stands  out  prominently 
from  the  marble  or  other  material  from  which  it  is  cut,  it 
is  said  to  be  in  "  high  relief,"  in  distinction  from  "  low  re 
lief,"  bus  relii-f. 

190.  Arabesques:  Complicated  patterns  of  interwoven 
foliage,  flowers  and  fruits,  derived  from  Arabian  art.  Lowell 
had  undoubtedly  studied  many  times  the  frost  designs  on 
the  window  panes. 

201.  That  crystalled  the  beams,  etc.:  That  caught  the 
beams  of  moon  and  sun  as  in  a  crystal.  For  "  that  "  the 
original  edition  has  "  which." 

204.  Winter-palace  of  ice:  An  allusion,  apparently,  to 
the  ice-palace  built  by  the  Empress  of  Russia,  Catherine  IT, 
"  most  magnificent  and  mighty  freak.  The  wonder  of  the 
North,"  Cowper  called  it.  Compare  Lowell's  description  of 
the  frost  work  with  Cowper's  similar  description  in  The 
Tusk,  in  the  beginning  of  Book  V. 

205-210.  'Twas  as  if  every  image,  etc.:  Note  the  exqui 
site  fancy  in  these  lines.  The  elves  have  preserved  in  the 
ice  the  pictures  of  summer  foliage  and  clouds  that  were 
mirrored  in  the  water  as  models  for  another  summer. 

211.  The  hall:  Tn  the  old  castles  the  hall  was  always  the 
large  banqueting  room,  originally  the  common  living  room. 
Here  all  large  festivities  would  take  place. 

213.  Corbel:  A   bracket-like   support   projecting   from   a 
wall  from  which  an  arch  springs  or  on  which  a  beam  rests. 
The  poet  has  in  mind  an  ancient  hall  in  which  the  ceiling 
is  the  exposed  woodwork  of  the  roof. 

214.  This  line  at  first  read:  "  With  the  lightsome,"  etc. 
Why  did  Lowell's  refining  taste  strike  out  "  the  "  ? 


146  NOTES 

216.  Yule-log:  The  great  log,  sometimes  the  root  of  a  tree, 
burned  in  the  huge  fireplace  on  Christmas  eve.  with  special 
ceremonies  and  merrymakings.  It  was  lighted  with  a  brand 
preserved  from  the  last  year's  log,  and  connected  with  its 
burning  were  many  quaint  superstitions  and  customs.  The 
celebration  is  a  survival  through  our  Scandinavian  ancestors 
of  the  winter  festival  in  honor  of  the  god  Thor.  llerrick 
describes  it  trippingly  in  one  of  his  songs: 

"  Come,  bring  with  a  noise, 

My  merrie,  merric  boys, 
The  Christmas  log  to  the  firing; 

While  my  good  dame,  she 

Bids  ye  all  be  free, 
And  drink  to  your  heart's  desiring." 

219.  Like  a.  locust,  etc.:  Only  one  who  has  heard  both 
sounds  frequently  can  appreciate  the  close  truth  of  this 
simile.  The  metaphors  and  similes  in  this  stanza  are  de 
serving  of  special  study. 

226.  Harp:  Prof.  William  Vaughn  Moody  questions 
whether  "  the  use  of  Sir  Launfal's  hair  as  a  '  harp  '  for  the 
wind  to  play  a  Christmas  carol  on  "  is  not  "  a  bit  grotesque." 
Does  the  picture  of  Sir  Launfal  in  these  two  stanzas  belong 
in  the  Prelude  or  in  the  story  in  Part  Second? 

230.  Carol  of  its  own:  Contrasted   with   the  carols  that 
are  being  sung  inside  the  castle. 

231.  Burden:  The  burden  or  refrain  is  the  part  repeated 
at  the  end  of  each  stanza  of  a  ballad  or  song,  expressing  the 
main  theme  or  sentiment.     Still  is  in  the  sense  of  always, 
ever. 

233.  Seneschal:  An  officer  of  the  castle  who  had  charge 
of  feasts  and  ceremonies,  like  the  modern  Lord  Chamberlain 
of  the  King's  palace.  Note  the  effect  of  the  striking  figure 
in  this  line. 

237.     Window-slits:  Narrow     perpendicular    openings    in 


NOTES  147 

the  wall,  serving  both  as  windows  and  as  loopholes  from 
which  to  fire  at  an  enemy. 

2oS.  Build  out  its  piers:  The  beams  of  light  are  like  the 
piers  or  jetties  that  extend  out  from  shore  into  the  water 
to  protect  ships.  Such  piers  are  also  built  out  to  protect 
the  shpre  from  the  violent  wash  of  the  ocean.  The  poet  may 
possibly,  however,  have  had  in  mind  the  piers  of  a  bridge 
that  support  the  arches  and  stand  against  the  sweep  of  the 
stream. 

'24'.$.  In  this  line  instead  of  "  the  weaver  Winter  "  the 
original  has  "  the  frost's  swift  shuttles."  Was  the  change 
an  improvement? 

1244.  A  single  crow:  Note  the  effect  of  introducing  this 
lone  crow  into  the  bleak  landscape. 

250.  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  this  old  Sir  Launfal 
is  only  in  the  dream  of  the  real  Sir  Launfal,  who  is  still  lying 
on  the  rushes  within  his  o\vn  castle.  As  the  poor  had  often 
been  turned  away  with  cold,  heartless  selfishness,  so  he  is 
now  turned  away  from  his  own  "  hard  gate." 

'J51.  Sate:  The  use  of  this  archaic  form  adds  to  the 
antique  flavor  of  the  poem.  So  with  the  use  of  the  word 
'•  tree  "  for  cross,  in  line  2S1  below.  Lowell  was  passionately 
fond  of  the  old  poets  and  the  quaint  language  of  the  early 
centuries  of  English  literature,  and  loved  to  introduce  inlo 
his  own  poetry  words  and  phrases  from  these  sources.  Ul 
this  habit  he  says: 

"If  some  small  savor  creep  into  my  rhyme 
Of  the  old  poets,  if  some  words  I  use, 
Neglected  long,  which  have  the  lusty  thews 
Of  that  gold-haired  and  earnest-hearted  time, 
Whose  loving  joy  and  sorrow  all  sublime 
Have  given  our  tongue  its  starry  eminence,  — • 
It  is  not  pride,  God  knows,  but  reverence 
Which  hath  grown  in  me  since  my  childhood's  prime." 

254.     Recked:  Cared  for. 


148  NOTES 

255.  Surcoat:  A   long   flowing   garment   worn    over    the 
armor,  on  which  was  "  emblazoned  "  the  coat  of  arms.     If 
the  knight  wore  a  crusader,   a   red   cross  was  embroidered 
thus  on  the  surcoat. 

256.  The  sign:  The  sign  of  the  cross,  the  symbol  of  humil 
ity  and  love.     This  is  the  first  real  intimation,  the  keynote,  of 
the   transformation   that   has   taken   place   in   Sir   Launfal's 
soul. 

259.  Idle  mail:  Useless,  ineffectual  protection.  This 
figure  carries  us  back  to  the  "  gilded  mail,"  line  l-'U,  in  which 
Sir  Launfal  "  flashed  forth  "  at  the  beginning  of  his  quest. 
The  poem  is  full  of  these  ininor  antitheses,  which  should  be 
traced  by  the  student. 

264-272.  He  sees,  etc.:  This  description  is  not  only 
beautiful  in  itself,  but  it  serves  an  important  purpose  in  the 
plan  of  the  poem.  It  is  a  kind  of  condensation  or  symbolic 
expression  of  Sir  Launfal's  many  years  of  wandering  in  orien 
tal  lands.  The  hint  or  brief  outline  is  given,  which  must 
be  expanded  by  the  imagination  of  the  reader.  Otherwise 
the  story  would  be  inconsistent  and  incomplete.  Notice 
how  deftly  the  picture  is  introduced. 

272.  Signal  of  palms:  A  group  of  palm  trees  seen  afar 
off  over  the  desert  is  a  welcome  signal  of  an  oasis  with  water 
for   the   relief  of   the   suffering   traveler.     Some  critics  have 
objected  that  so  small  a  spring  could  not  have  "  waved  " 
so  large  a  signal ! 

273.  Notice  the  abruptness  with  which  the  leper  is  here 
introduced,  just  as  before  at  the  beginning  of  the  story.     The 
vision   of  "  a  sunnier  clime  "  is  quickly  swept   away.     The 
shock  of  surprise  now  has  a  very  different  effect  upon  Sir 
Launfal. 

275.  This  line  at  first  read:  "  But  Sir  Launfal  sees  naught 
save  the  grewsome  thing." 

278.  White:  "  And,     behold,     Miriam     became     leprous, 
white  as  snow."     (Numbers  xii,   10.) 

279.  Desolate   horror:  The   adjective   suggests    the   out- 


NOTES  149 

cast,  isolated  condition  of  lepers.  They  were  permitted  no 
contact  with  other  people1.  The  ten  lepers  who  met  Jesus 
in  Samaria  "  stood  afar  off  and  lifted  up  their  voices." 

281.  On  the  tree:  On  the  cross.  "  Whom  they  slew 
and  1'jwiged  on  a  tree,  Him  God  raised  up  the  third  day." 
(Acts  x,  39.)  This  use  of  the  word  is  common  in  early  lit 
erature,  especially  in  the  ballads. 

2S5.     See  John  xx,  25-27. 

287.  Through  him:  The  leper.  Note  that  the  address 
is  changed  in  these  two  lines.  Compare  Matthciv  xxv,  34-40. 
This  gift  to  the  leper  differs  how  from  the  gift  in  Part  First? 

291  Leprosie:  The  antiquated  spelling  is  used  for  the 
perfect  rhyme  and  to  secure  the  antique  flavor. 

292.     Girt:     The  original  word  here  was  "  caged." 

294.  Ashes  and  dust:  Explain  the  metaphor.  Compare 
with  "sackcloth  and  ashes."  See  Esther  iv,  3;  Jonah  iii, 
6;  Job  ii,  8. 

300,  301.  The  figurative  character  of  the  lines  is  empha 
sized  by  the  word  "  soul  "  at  the  end.  The  miracle  of  Cans 
seems  to  have  been  in  the  poet's  mind. 

304,  305.  The  leper  is  transfigured  and  Christ  himself 
appears  in  the  vision  of  the  sleeping  Sir  Launfal. 

307.  The  Beautiful  Gate:  "  The  gate  of  the  temple  which 
is   called    Beautifu1,"    where    Peter   healed    the   lame    man. 
(Acts  iii,  2.) 

308.  Himself  the  Gate:  See  John  x,  7,  9:  "I  am  the  door." 
310.     Temple  of  God :  "  Know  ye  not  that  ye  are  the  temple 

of  God,  and  that  the  spirit  of  God  dwelleth  in  you?  " 
(7  Corinthians  iii,  16,  17;  vi,  19.) 

312.  This  line  at  first  began  with  "  which." 

313.  Shaggy:  Is   this   term   applicable   to   Sir   Launfal 's 
present  condition,  or  is  the  whole  simile  carried  a  little  be 
yond  the  point  of  true  likeness  ? 

314.  Softer:  Lowell    originally    wrote    "calmer"    here. 
The  change  increased  the  effect  of  the  alliteration.     Was  it 
otherwise  an  improvement? 


150  NOTES 

315.  Lo,  it  is  I:  John  vi,  20. 

316.  Without   avail:  Was  Sir   Launfal's  long  quest  en 
tirely  without  avail  ?     Compare  the  last  lines  of  Tennyson's 
Holy  Grail,  where  Arthur  complains  that  his  knights  who 
went  upon  the  Holy  Quest  have  followed  "  wandering  fires, 
lost  in  the  quagmire,"  and  "  leaving  human  wrongs  to  right 
themselves." 

320,  321.     Matthew  xx\  i,  20-28;  Mark    xiv,  22-24. 

322.  Holy  Supper:  The  Last  Supper  of  Christ  and  his 
disciples,  upon  which  is  instituted  the  communion  service  of 
the  churches.  The  spirit  of  the  Holy  Supper,  the  communion 
of  true  brotherhood,  is  realized  when  the  Christlike  spirit 
triumphs  in  the  man.  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto 
one  of  the  least  of  these,  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto 
me."  (Matthew  xxv,  40.) 

326.     The  original  has  "  bestows  "  for  "  gives." 

328.     Swound:  The  antiquated  form  of  swoon. 

332,  333.  Interpret  the  lines.  Did  the  poet  have  in 
mind  the  spiritual  armor  described  in  Kfrficfu'tini*  vi,  11  17? 

330.  Hangbird:  The  oriole,  so  called  from  its  hanging 
nest;  one  of  Lowell's  most  beloved  "  garden  acquaintances  " 
at  Ehmvood.  In  a  letter  he  says:  "  They  build  a  pendulous 
nest,  and  so  flash  in  the  sun  that  our  literal  rustics  call  them 
fire  hang-birds."  See  the  description  in  Under  the  Willows 

beginning:  . 

My  oriole,  my  glance  of  summer  fire. 

See  also  the  charming  prose  description  in  My  Garden  Ac 
quaintance. 

338.  Summer's  long  siege  at  last  is  o'er:  The  return  to 
this  figure  rounds  out  the  story  and  serves  to  give  unity  to 
the  plan  of  the  poem.  The  siege  is  successful,  summer  has 
conquered  and  entered  the  castle,  warming  and  lighting  its 
cold,  cheerless  interior. 

342,  343.  Is  Lowell  expressing  here  his  own  convictions 
about  ideal  democracy? 


NOTES  151 


THE  SHEPHERD  OF  KING  ADMETUS 

Apollo,  the  god  of  music,  having  given  offense  to  Zeus, 
was  condemned  to  serve  for  the  space  of  one  year  as  a  shep- 
herd^under  Admetus,  King  of  Thessaly.  This  is  one  of  the 
most  charming  of  the  myths  of  Apollo,  and  has  been  often 
used  by  the  poets.  Remarking  upon  this  poem,  and  others 
of  its  period,  Scudder  says  that  it  shows  "  how  persistently 
in  Lowell's  mind  was  present  this  aspect  of  the  poet  which 
makes  him  a  seer,"  a  recognition  of  an  "  all-embracing, 
all-penetrating  power  which  through  the  poet  transmutes 
nature  into  something  finer  and  more  eternal,  and  gives  him 
a  vantage  ground  from  which  to  perceive  more  truly  the 
realities  of  life."  Compare  with  this  poem  An  Incident  in  a 
Railroad  Car. 

o.  Lyre:  According  to  mythology,  Apollo's  lyre  was  a 
tortoise-shell  strung  with  seven  strings. 

S.  Fagots  for  a  witch:  The  introduction  of  this  witch 
element  into  a  (ircek  legend  rather  mars  the  consistency  of 
the  poem.  Lowell  finally  substituted  for  the  stanza  the 
following: 

"  Upon  an  empty  tortoise-shell 

He  stretched  some  chords,  and  drew 
Music  that  made  men's  bosoms  swell 

Fearless,  or  brimmed  their  eyes  with  dew." 

HEBE 

Lowell  suggests  in  this  dainty  symbolical  lyric  his  concep 
tion  of  the  poet's  inspiration.  Hebe  was  cup-bearer  to  the 
gods  of  Olympus,  in  Greek  mythology,  and  poured  for  them 
their  nectar.  She  was  also  the  goddess  of  eternal  youth.  By 
an  extension  of  the  symbolism  she  becomes  goddess  of  the 
eternal  joyousness  of  the  poetic  gift.  The  "  influence  fleet  " 
is  the  divine  afflatus  that  fills  the  creative  mind  of  the  poet. 


152  NOTES 

But  Pegasus  cannot  he  made  to  work  in  harness  at  will. 
True  inspiration  comes  only  in  choice  moments.  Coy  Fiebr 
cannot  be  wooed  violently.  Elsewhere  he  says  of  the  muse: 

"  Harass  her  not;  thy  heat  and  stir 
But  greater  coyness  breed  in  her." 

"  Follow  thy  life,"  he  says,  "  be  true  to  thy  best  self,  then 
Hebe  will  bring  her  choicest  ambrosia."  That  is  — 

"  Make  thyself  rica,  and  then  the  Muse 
Shall  court  thy  precious  interviews, 
Shall  take  thy  head  upon  her  knee, 
And  such  enchantment  lilt  to  thee, 
That  thou  shalt  hear  the  life-blood  flow 
From  farthest  stars  to  grass-blades  low." 

TO   THE  DANDELION 

Four  stanzas  were  added  to  this  poem  after  its  first  ap 
pearance,  the  sixth,  seventh,  eighth  and  tenth,  but  in  the 
finally  revised  edition  these  were  cut  out,  very  likely  because 
Lowell  regarded  them  as  too  didactic.  Indeed  the  poem 
is  complete  and  more  artistic  without  them. 

"  Of  Lowell's  earlier  pieces,"  says  Stedman,  "  the  one 
which  shows  the  finest  sense  of  the  poetry  of  nature  is  that  ad 
dressed  To  the  Dandelion.  The  opening  phrase  ranks  with 
the  selectest  of  Wordsworth  and  Keats,  to  whom  imagina 
tive  diction  came  intuitively,  and  both  thought  and  lan 
guage  are  felicitous  throughout.  This  poem  contains  many 
of  its  author's  peculiar  beauties  and  none  of  his  faults;  it 
was  the  outcome  of  the  mood  that  can  summon  a  rare  spirit 
of  art  to  express  the  gladdest  thought  and  most  elusive 
feeling. " 

6.  Eldorado:  The  land  of  gold,  supposed  to  be  somewhere 
in  South  America,  which  the  European  adventurers,  espe 
cially  the  Spaniards,  were  constantly  seeking  in  the  sixteenth 
century. 


NOTES  153 

26.     SybarJs:  An  ancient  Creek  colony  in  southern  Italy 
whose  inhabitants  were  devoted  to  luxury  and  pleasure. 
52-54.     Compare  Sir  Launfal. 

MY  LOVE 

Lowell's  love  for  Maria  White  is  beautifully  enshrined  in 
this  little  poem.  He  wrote  it  at  about  the  time  of  their 
engagement.  AVhile  it  is  thus  personal  in  its  origin,  it  is 
universal  in  its  expression  of  ideal  womanhood,  and  so  has 
a  permanent  interest  and  appeal.  In  its  strong  simplicity 
and  crystal  purity  of  style,  it  is  a  little  masterpiece.  Though 
filled  with  the  passion  of  his  new  and  beautiful  love,  its 
movement  is  as  calm  and  artistically  restrained  as  that  of 
one  of  Wordsworth's  best  lyrics. 

THE  Cfl ANGELING 

This  is  one  of  the  tender  little  poems  that  refer  to  the. 
death  of  the  poet's  daughter  Blanche,  which  occurred  in 
March,  18  17.  The  Fir. ft  Snmo-fall  and  She  Came  ami  \Yrnt 
embody  (lie  same  personal  grief.  When  sending  the  former 
to  his  friend  Sydney  H.  Gr.y  for  publication,  lie  wrote:  "  May 
you  never  have  the  key  which  shall  unlock  the  whole  mean 
ing  of  the  poem  to  you."  Underwood,  in  his  Biographical 
Sketch  says  that  "  friends  of  the  poet,  who  were  admitted  to 
the  study  in  the  upper  chamber,  remember  the  pairs  of  baby 
shoes  that  hung  OA'er  a  picture-frame."  The  volume  in 
which  this  poem  first  appeared  contained  this  dedication  — - 
"  To  the  ever  fresh  and  happy  memory  of  our  little  Blanche 
this  volume  is  reverently  dedicated." 

A  changeling,  according  to  folk-lore  and  fairy  tale,  is  a 
fairy  child  that  the  fairies  substitute  for  a  human  child  that 
they  have  stolen.  The  changeling  was  generally  sickly, 
shrivelled  and  in  every  way  repulsive.  Here  the  poet  re 
verses  the  superstition,  substituting  the  angels  for  the  iriia- 


154  NOTES 

chievous  fairies,  who  bring  an  angel  child  in  place  of  the  lost 
one.  Whittier  has  a  poem  on  the  same  theme,  The  Change 
ling. 

29.  Zingari:  The  Gypsies  —  suggested  by  "wandering 
angels"  above  —  who  wander  about  the  earth,  and  also 
sometimes  steal  children,  according  to  popular  belief. 

52.  Bliss  it:  A  rather  violent  use  of  the  word,  not  recog 
nized  by  the  dictionaries,  b>  t  nevertheless  felicitous. 

AN   INDIAN-SUMMER    REVERIE 

Lowell's  love  of  Elmwood  and  its  surroundings  finds 
expression  everywhere  in  his  writings,  both  prose  and 
verse,  but  nowhere  in  a  more  direct,  personal  manner  than 
in  this  poem.  He  was  not  yet  thirty  when  the  poem  was 
written,  and  Cambridge  could  still  be  called  a  "village,"  but 
tin1  familiar  scenes  already  had  their  retrospective  charms, 
which  increased  with  the  passing  years.  Later  in  life  he 
again  celebrated  his  affection  for  this  home  environment  in 
Uivh'.r  the  Willows. 

"  There  are  poetic  lines  and  phrases  in  the  poem,"  says 
Scudder,  "  and  more  than  all  the  veil  of  the  season  hangs 
tremulously  over  the  whole,  so  that  one  is  gently  stirred  by 
the  poetic  feeling  of  the  rambling  verses;  yet,  after  all,  the 
most  enduring  impression  is  of  the  young  man  himself  in 
that  still  hour  of  his  life,  when  he  was  conscious,  not  so  much 
of  a  reform  to  which  he  must  put  his  hand,  as  of  the  love  of 
beauty,  and  of  the  vague  melancholy  which  mingles  with 
beauty  in  the  soul  of  a  susceptible  poet.  The  river  winding 
through  the  marshes,  the  distant  sound  of  the  ploughman, 
the  near  chatter  of  the  chipmunk,  the  individual  trees,  each 
living  its  own  life,  the  march  of  the  seasons  flinging  lights 
and  shadows  over  the  broad  scene,  the  pictures  of  human 
life  associated  with  his  own  experience,  the  hurried  survey 
of  his  village  years  —  all  these  pictures  float  before  his  vision ; 
and  then,  with  an  abruptness  which  is  like  the  choking  of 


NOTES  155 

the  singer's  voice  with  tears,  there  wells  up  the  thought  of 
the  little  life  which  held  as  in  one  precious  drop  the  love 
and  faith  of  his  heart." 

I.  Visionary  tints:  The  term  Indian  summer  is  given  to 
alnnffet  any  autumnal  period  of  exceptionally  quiet,  dry  and 
hazy  weather.     In  America  these  characteristic  features  of 
late  fall  were  especially  associated  with  the  middle  West,  at 
a  time  when  the  Indians  occupied  that  region. 

5.  Hebe:  Hebe  was  cup-bearer  to  the  gods  at  their 
feasts  on  Olympus.  Like  Hebe,  Autumn  fills  the  sloping 
fields,  rimmed  round  with  distant  hills,  with  her  own  deli 
cious  atmosphere  of  dreamy  and  poetic  influence. 

II.  My  own  projected  spirit:   It  seems  to  the  poet  that 
his  own  spirit  goes  out  to  the  world,  steeping  it  in  reverie 
like  his  own,  rather  than  receiving  the  influence  from  na 
ture's  mood. 

25.  Gleaning  Ruth:  For  the  story  of  Ruth's  gleaning 
in  the  fields  of  Boa/,,  see  the  book  of  h'utli,  ii. 

.'iS.  Chipmunk:  Lowell  at  first  h;id  "  squirrel  "  here, 
which  would  be  inconsistent-  with  the  "underground  fast 
ness."  And  yet,  are  chipmunks  seen  up  in  walnut  trees? 

40.  This  line  originally  read,  "with  a  chipping  bound." 
Cheeping  is  chirping,  or  giving  the  peculiar  cluck  that  sounds 
like  "  cheep,"  or  ''  chip." 

45.  Faint  as  smoke,  etc.:  The  farmer  burns  the  stubble 
and  other  refuse  of  the  season  before  his  "  fall  plowing." 

46.  The  single  crow,  etc.:   Note   the  full   significance  of 
this  detail  of   the   picture.     Compare  Bryant's  Death  of  the. 
Flowers : 

"  And  from  the  wood-top  calls  the  crow  through  all  the 
gloomy  day." 

50.     Compare   with    this   stanza   the   pretty   little   poem, 
The  Birch  Tree. 
68.     Lavish  of  their  long-hid  gold:  The  chestnut  leaves. 


156  NOTES 

it  will  bo  remembered,  turn  to  a  bright  golden  yellr.w  in 
autumn.  These  descriptions  of  autumn  foliage  are  all  as 
true  as  beautiful. 

73.  Maple-swamps:  We  generally  speak  of  the  swamp- 
maple,  which  grows  in  low  ground,  and  has  particularly  bril 
liant  foliage  in  autumn. 

82.  Tangled  blackberry:  This  is  the  creeping  blackberry, 
of  course,  which  every  one  remembers  whose  feet  have 
been  caught  in  its  prickly  tangles. 

91.  Martyr  oak:  The  oak  is  surrounded  with  the  blazing 
foliage  of  the  ivy,  like  a  burning  martyr. 

99.  Eear  marshes:  The  Charles  River  near  Elmwood 
winds  through  broad  salt  marshes,  the  characteristic  fea 
tures  of  which  Lowell  describes  with  minute  and  loving 
fidelity 

127.  Bobolink:  If  Lowell  had  a  favorite  bird,  it  was  the 
bobolink,  although  the  oriole  was  a  close  competitor  for  his 
praises.  In  one  of  his  letters  he  says:  "  I  think  the  bobolink 
the  best  singer  in  the  world,  even  undervaluing  the  lark  and 
the  nightingale  in  the  comparison."  And  in  another  he 
writes:  "That  liquid  tinkle  of  theirs  is  the  true  fountain 
of  youth  if  one  can  only  drink  it  with  the  right  ears,  and  I 
always  date  the  New  Year  from  the  day  of  my  first  draught. 
Messer  Roberto  di  Lincoln,  willi  his  summer  alb  over  his 
shoulders,  is  (lie  true  chorister  for  the  bridals  of  earth  and 
sky.  There  is  no  bird  that  seems  to  me  so  thoroughly  happy 
as  he,  so  void  of  all  arriirc  ]>ensce  about  getting  a  liveli 
hood.  The  robin  sings  matins  and  vespers  somewhat  con 
scientiously,  it  seems  to  me  —  makes  a  business  of  it  and 
pipes  as  it  were  by  the  yard  —  but  Bob  squanders  song  like 
a  poet." 

Compare  the  description  in  Sunthin'  in  the  Pastoral  Line: 

"  'Nuff  said,  June's  bridesman,  poet  o'  the  year, 
Gladness  on  wings,  the  bobolink,  is  here; 
Half  hid  in  tip-top  apple-blooms  he  swings, 


NOTES  157 

Or  climbs  aginst  the  breeze  with  quiverin'  wings, 

Or,  givin'  way  to  't  in  a  mock  despair, 

Runs  down,  a  brook  o'  laughter,  thru  the  air." 

See  also  the  opening  lines  of  Under  the  Willows  for  another 
description  full  of  the  ecstasy  of  both  bird  and  poet.  The 
two  passages  woven  together  appear  in  the  essay  Cambridge 
Thirty  Years  Ago,  as  a  quotation.  An  early  poem  on  The 
Bttbolinlc,  delightful  and  widely  popular,  was  omitted  from 
later  editions  of  his  poems  by  Lowell,  perhaps  because  to  his 
maturer  taste  the  theme  was  too  much  moralized  in  his  early 
manner.  "  Shelley  and  Wordsworth,"  says  Mr.  Brownell, 
"  have  not  more  worthily  immortalized  the  skylark  than 
Lowell  has  the  bobolink,  its  New  England  congener." 

134.  Another  change:  The  description  now  returns  to 
the  marshes. 

147.  Simond's  hill:  In  the  essay  Cambridge  Thirty  Years 
A(jo  Lowell  describes  the  village  as  seen  from  the  top  of  this 
hill. 

159-101.  An  allusion  to  the  Mexican  War,  against  which 
Lowell  was  directing  the  satire  of  the  Biglow  J}ajiers. 

174-1X2.  Compare  the  winter  pictures  in  Whittier's 
Snowbound. 

177.  Formal  candles:  Candles  lighted  for  some  form  or 
ceremony,  as  in  a  religious  service. 

192.  Stonehenge:  Stonehenge  on  Salisbury  plain  in 
the  south  of  England  is  famous  for  its  huge  blocks  of  stone 
now  lying  in  confusion,  supposed  to  be  the  remains  of  an 
ancient  Druid  temple. 

207.  Sanding:  The  continuance  of  the  metaphor  in 
"  higher  waves  "  are  "  whelming."  With  high  waves  the 
sand  is  brought  in  upon  the  land,  encroaching  upon  its 
limits. 

209.      Muses'  factories:  The  buildings  of  Harvard  College. 

218.  House-bespotted  swell:  Lowell  notes  with  some 
resentment  the  change  from  nature's  simple  beauties  to 


158  NOTES 

the  pretentiousness  of  wealth  shown  in  incongruous  build 
ings. 

220.  Cits:  Contracted  from  citizens.  During  the  French 
Revolution,  when  all  titles  were  abolished,  the  term  citizen 
was  applied  to  every  one,  to  denote  democratic  simplicity 
and  equality. 

223.  Gentle  Allston:  Washington  Allston,  the  celebrated 
painter,  whom  Lowell  describes  as  he  remembered  him  in 
the  charming  essay  Cambridge  Thirty  Years  Ago. 

225.  Virgilium  vidi  tantum:  I  barely  saw  Vinril  —  caught 
a  glimpse  of  him  —  a  phrase  applied  to  any  passing  glimpse 
of  greatness. 

227.  Undine-like:  Undine,  a  graceful  water  nymph,  is 
the  heroine  of  the  charming  little  romantic  story  by  De  la 
Motte  Fouque. 

234.  The  village  blacksmith:  See  Longfellow's  famous 
poem.  The  Village  Blacksmith.  The  chestnut  was  cut  down 
in  1S76.  An  arm-chair  made  from  its  wood  still  stands  in 
the  Longfellow  house,  a  gift  to  Longfellow  from  the  Cam 
bridge  school  children. 

254.  Six  old  willows:  These  much-loved  trees  afforded 
Lowell  a  subject  for  a  later  poem  Under  the  Willows,  in  which 
he  describe.-  particularly  one  ancient  willow  that  had  been 
spared,  he  "  knows  not  by  what  grace."  by  the  ruthless 
"  New  World  subduers  " 

"  One  of  six,  a  willow  Pleiades, 
The  seventh  fallen,  that  lean  along  the  brink 
Where  the  steep  upland  dips  into  the  marsh." 

In  a  letter  written  twenty  years  after  the  licrerie  to  J.  T. 
Fields,  Lowell  says:  "  My  heart  was  almost  broken  yester 
day  by  seeing  nailed  to  my  willow  a  board  with  these  words 
on  it,  '  These  trees  for  sale.'  The  wretch  is  going  to  peddle 
them  for  firewood!  If  I  had  the  money,  I  would  buy  the 
piece  of  ground  they  stand  on  to  save  them  —  the  dear  friends 
of  a  lifetime." 


KOTES  159 

2.55.  Paul  Potter:  One  of  the  most  famous  of  the  Dutch 
painters  of  the  seventeenth  century,  notable  for  the  strong 
realism  of  his  work. 

_'(J4.  Collegisse  juvat:  The  full  sentence,  in  the  first  ode 
of  Horace.  n-ads.  "  Curriculo  pulverem  Olympicum  collegisse 
juvatj,''  (h  is  a  pleasure  to  have  collected  the  dust  of  Olym 
pus  on  one's  chariot  wheels.)  The  allusion  is  to  the  Olympic 
games,  the  most  celebrated  festival  of  Greece.  Lowell 
puns  upon  the  word  culltyissc  with  his  own  coinage,  which 
may  have  the  double  meaning  of  going  to  college  and  col- 
It  ding. 

-7'2.  Blinding  anguish:  An  allusion  to  the  death  of  his 
little  daughter  Blanche.  See  The  Changeling,  The  First 
Siiow-full,  and  She  Came  and  Went. 

THE  OAK 

11.  Uncinctured  front:  The  forehead  no  longer  encircled 
with  a  crown. 

13-16.  There  is  a  little  confusion  in  the  figures  here,  the 
cathedral  part  of  the  picture  heine  a  little  far  fetched. 

40.  Mad  Pucks:  Puck  is  the  frolicsome,  mischief-making 
spirit  of  Shakespeare's  Mi<!*ummfr  Xi'/ht'*  l)r>rim. 

45.  Dodona  grove:  Th-  grove  <.f  i.:;k.-  at  l)odona  was  the 
seat  of  a  famous  (I  reek  orai-lf.  U|IOM-  n-spon>es  were  whis 
pered  through  the  murmuring  foliage  of  the  trees. 


Beaver  Brook  at  YVaverley  was  a  favorite  resort  of  Lowell's 
and  it  is  often  mentioned  in  his  writings.  In  summer  and 
winter  it  was  the  frequent  iroal  of  his  walks.  The  poem  was 
at  first  called  77,t  Mill.  It  was  first  published  in  the  Anti- 
Slavery  Standard,  and  to  the  editor,  Sidney  II.  Clay,  Lowell 
wrote:  —  "Don't  you  like  the  poem  I  sent  you  last  week? 
1  was  inclined  to  think  pretty  well  of  it,  but  I  have  not  seen 


160  NOTES 

it  in  print  yet.  The  little  mill  stands  in  a  valley  between 
one  of  the  spurs  of  Wellington  Hill  and  the  main  summit, 
just  on  the  edge  of  Waltham.  It  is  surely  one  of  the  love 
liest  spots  in  the  world.  It  is  one  of  my  lions,  and  if  you 
will  make  me  a  visit  this  spring,  I  will  take  you  up  to  hear  it 
roar,  and  I  will  show  you  '  the  oaks  '  —  the  largest,  I  fancy, 
left  in  the  country." 

21.  Undine:  In  mythology  and  romance,  Undine  is  a 
water-spirit  who  is  endowed  with  a  soul  by  her  marriage  with 
a  mortal.  The  race  is  the  watercourse  conducted  from  the 
dam  in  an  open  trough  or  "  penstock  "  to  the  wheel. 

45.  In  that  new  childhood  of  the  Earth:  This  poem  was 
written  a  few  weeks  after  the  Vision  of  Sir  Launful  was  pub 
lished,  and  it  therefore  naturally  partakes  of  its  idealism. 

THE  PRESENT  CRISIS 

This  poem  was  written  in  1844.  The  discussion  over  the 
annexation  of  Texas  was  absorbing  public  attention.  The 
anti-slavery  party  opposed  annexation,  believing  that  it 
would  strengthen  the  slave-holding  interests,  and  for  the 
same  reason  the  South  was  urging  the  scheme.  Lowell 
wrote  several  very  strong  anti-slavery  poems  at  this  time, 
To  W.  L.  Garrison,  Wendell.  Phillips,  On  the  Death  of  C.  T. 
Torre;/,  and  others,  which  attracted  attention  to  him  as  a 
new  and  powerful  ally  of  the  reform  party.  "  These  poems," 
says  CSeorge  William  Curtis,  "  especially  that  on  The  Pres 
ent  Crisis,  have  a  Tyrtiean  resonance,  a  stately  rhetorical 
rhythm,  thnt  make  their  dignity  of  thought,  their  intense 
feeling,  and  picturesque  imagery,  superbly  effective  in  recita 
tion.  They  sang  themselves  on  every  anti-slavery  platform." 

While  the  poem  was  inspired  by  the  political  struggle  of 
the  time,  which  Lowell  regarded  as  a  crisis  in  the  history  of 
our  national  honor  and  progress,-  its  chief  strength  is  due  to 
the  fact  that  its  lofty  sentiment  is  universal  in  its  appeal, 
and  not  applicable  merely  to  temporal  and  local  conditions 


NOTES  101 

17.  Round  the  earth's  electric  circle,  etc.:  This  prophetic 
ngure  was  doubtless  suggested  by  the  first  telegraph  line, 
which  Samuel  F.  B.  Morse  had  just  erected  between  Baltimore 
and  Washington. 

37.  The  Word:  "In  the  beginning  was  the  Word, 
and  the  Word  was  with  God,  and  the  Word  was  God." 
(John  iVl.) 

44.  Delphic  cave:  The  oracle  at  Delphi  was  the  most 
famous  and  authoritative  among  the  Greeks.  The  priestess 
who  voiced  the  answers  of  the  god  was  seated  in  a  natural 
fissure  in  the  rocks. 

40.  Cyclops:  The  Cyclopes  were  brutish  giants  with  one 
eye  who  lived  in  caverns  and  fed  on  human  flesh,  if  the  oppor 
tunity  offered.  Lowell  is  recalling  in  these  lines  the  adven 
ture  of  Ulysses  with  the  Cyclops,  in  the  ninth  book  of 
Homer's  Odyssey. 

04.  Credo:  Latin,  I  believe:  the  first  word  in  the  Latin 
version  of  tire  Apostles'  Creed,  hence  used  for  creed, 

THE  COURTIN' 

This  poem  first  appeared  as  "a  short  fragment  of  a 
pastoral,"  in  the  introduction  to  the  First  Series  of  the 
Biglow  Papers.  It  is  said  to  have  been  composed  merely  to 
fill  a  blank  page,  but  its  popularity  was  so  great  that 
Lowell  expanded  it  to  twice  its  original  length,  and  finally 
printed  it  as  a  kind  of  introduction  to  the  Second  Series  of 
the  Biglow  Papers.  It  first  appeared,  however,  in  its 
expanded  form  in  a  charitable  publication,  Autograph  Leaves 
of  Our  Country's  Authors,  reproduced  in  facsimile  from  the 
original  manuscript. 

"  This  bucolic  idyl,"  says  Stedman,  "  is  without  a  counter 
part;  no  richer  juice  can  be  pressed  from  the  wild  grape  of 
the  Yankee  soil."  Greenslet  thinks  that  this  poem  is 
"  perhaps  the  most  nearly  perfect  of  his  poems." 

17.     Crooknecks:   Crookneck  squashes. 


162  NOTES 

19.  Ole  queen's-arm:  The  old  musket  brought  from  the 
Concord  fight  in  1775. 

32.  To  draw  a  straight  furrow  when  plowing  is  regarded 
as  evidence  of  a  skilful  farmer. 

36.  All  is:  The  truth  is,  "  all  there  is  about  it." 

37.  Long  o'  her:  Along  of  her,  on  account  of  her. 

40.  South  slope:  The  slope  of  a  hill  facing  south  catches 
the  spring  sunshine. 

43.  Ole  Hunderd:  Old  Hundred  is  one  of  the  most 
familiar  of  the  old  hymn  tu  'es. 

58.     Somewhat  doubtful  as  to  the  sequel. 

94.  Bay  o'.  Fundy:  The  Bay  of  Fundy  is  remarkable 
for  its  high  and  violent  tides,  owing  to  the  peculiar  confor 
mation  of  its  banks. 

96.  Was  cried:  The  "bans "were  cried,  the  announce 
ment  of  the  engagement  in  the  church,  according  to  the 
custom  of  that  day. 

THE  COMMEMORATION  ODE 

The  poem  was  dedicated  "  To  the  ever  sweet  and  shining 
memory  of  the  ninety-three  sons  of  Harvard  College  who 
have  died  for  their  country  in  the  war  of  nationality."  The 
text  of  the  poem  is  here  given  as  Lowell  first  published  it 
in  1865.  He  afterward  made  a  few  verbal  changes,  and 
added  one  new  strophe  after  the  eighth.  There  is  a  special 
interest  in  studying  the  ode  in  the  form  in  which  it  came 
rushing  from  the  poet's  brain. 

1-14.  The  deeds  of  the  poet  are  weak  and  trivial  com 
pared  with  the  deeds  of  heroes.  They  live  their  high  ideals 
and  die  for  them.  Yet  the  gentle  words  of  the  poet  may 
sometimes  save  unusual  lives  from  that  oblivion  to  which 
all  common  lives  are  destined. 

5.  Robin's-leaf:  An  allusion  to  the  ballad  of  the  Babes 
in  the  Wood. 

9.     Squadron-strophes:   The   term   strophe   originally   wal 


NOTES  163 

applied  to  a  metrical  form  that  was  repeated  in  a  certain 
established  way,  like  the  strophe  and  antistrophe  of  the  Greek 
ode,  as  sung  by  a  divided  chorus;  it  is  now  applied  to  any 
stanza  form.  The  poem  of  heroism  is  a  "  battle-ode,"  whose 
successive  stanzas  are  marching  squadrons,  whose  verses  are 
lines  of  blazing  guns,  and  whose  melody  is  the  strenuous 
mu Ac  of  "  trump  and  drum." 

13.  Lethe's  dreamless  ooze:  Lethe  is  the  river  of  oblivion 
in  Hades;  its  slimy  depths  of  forgetfulness  are  not  even 
disturbed  by  dreams. 

14.  Unventurous  throng:  The  vast  majority  of  common 
place  beings  who  neither  achieve  nor  attempt  deeds  of  "  high 
emprise." 

16.  Wisest  Scholars:  Many  students  who  had  returned 
from  the  war  were  in  the  audience,  welcomed  back  by  their 
revered  mother,  their  Alma  Mater. 

20.  Peddling:  Engaging  in  small,  trifling  interests.  Lowell's 
attitude   toward   science   is   that   of  Wordsworth,   when   he 
speaks  of  the  dry-souled  scientist  as  one  who  is  all  eyes  and 
no  heart,   "  One  that  would   peep  and   botanize   Upon   his 
mother's  grave." 

21.  The  pseudo-science  of  astrology,  seeking  to  tell  com 
monplace  fortunes  by  the  stars. 

25-26.     Clear  fame:  Compare  Milton's  Lycidas: 

"  Fame  is  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise 
To  scorn  delights  and  live  laborious  days." 

32.  Half- virtues :  Is  Lowell  disparaging  the  virtues  of 
peace  and  home  in  comparison  with  the  heroic  virtues  of 
war?  Or  are  these  "  half-virtues  "  contrasted  with  the 
loftier  virtue,  the  devotion  to  Truth? 

34.  That  stern  device:  The  seal  of  Harvard  College, 
chosen  by  its  early  founders,  bears  the  device  of  a  shield 
with  the  word  Ve-ri-tas  (truth)  upon  three  open  books. 

46.     Sad  faith:  Deep,   serious  faith,  or  there  may  be   a 


164  NOTES 

slight  touch  of  irony  in  the  word,  with  a  glance  at  the  gloomy 
faith  of  early  puritanism  and  its  "  lifeless  creed  "  (1.  62). 
02.    Lifeless  creed:  Compare  Tennyson's: 

"  Ancient  form 
Thro'  which  the  spirit  breathes  no  more." 

73.  The  tide  of  the  ocean  in  its  flow  and  ebb  is  under 
the  influence  of  the  moon.  To  get  the  sense  of  the  metaphor, 
"  fickle  "  must  be  read  with  "  Fortune  "  —  unless,  perchance, 
we, like  Juliet, regard  the  mo  >n  as  the  "inconstant  moon." 

81.  To    protect    one's    self    everyone    connives    against 
everyone  else.     Compare  Sir  Launfal,   1.   11.      Instead   of 
climbing  Sinais  we  "  cringe  and  plot." 

82.  Compare  Sir  Launfal,   1.   26.     The   whole   passage, 
11.  76-87,  is  a  distant  echo  of  the  second  and  third  stanzas 
of  Sir  Launfal. 

83-85.     Puppets:  The  puppets  are  the  pasteboard  actors 
in  the  Punch  and  Judy  show,  operated  by  unseen  wires. 
84.     An  echo  of  Macbeth,  V,  5: 

"  Life's  but  a  walking  shadow,  a  poor  player 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 
And  then  is  heard  no  more." 

97.  Elder  than  the  Day:  Elder  than  the  first  Day.  "  And 
God  called  the  light  Day,"  etc.  (Genesis  i,  5.)  We  may 
have  light  from  the  divine  fountains. 

110-114.  In  shaping  this  elaborate  battle  metaphor,  one 
can  easily  believe  the  poet  to  have  had  in  mind  some  fierce 
mountain  struggle  during  the  war,  such  as  the  battle  of 
Lookout  Mountain. 

111.  Creeds :  Here  used  in  the  broad  sense  of  convictions, 
principles,  beliefs. 

115-118.  The  construction  is  faulty  in  these  lines.  The 
two  last  clauses  should  be  co-ordinated.  The  substance  of 
the  meaning  is:  Peace  has  her  wreath,  while  the  cannon  are 
silent  and  while  the  eword  slumbers.  Lowell's  attention 


NOTES  165 

was  called  to  this  defective  passage  by  T.  W.  Higginson,  and 
he  replied:  "  Your  criticism  is  perfectly  just,  and  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you  for  it  —  though  I  might  defend  myself,  I 
believe,  by  some  constructions  even  looser  in  some  of  the 
Greek  choruses.  But  on  the  whole,  when  1  have  my  choice, 
I  prefer  to  make  sense."  He  then  suggested  an  emendation, 
wli*h  somehow  failed  to  get  into  the  published  poem: 

"  Kre  yet  the  sharp,  decisive  word 
Redden  the  cannon's  lips,  and  while  the  sword." 

120.  Baal's  stone  obscene:  Human  sacrifices  were  offered 
on  the  altars  of  Bual.  (Jeremiah  xix,  5.) 

147-205.  This  strophe  was  not  in  the  ode  as  delivered, 
but  was  written  immediately  after  the  occasion,  and  included 
in  the  published  poem.  "  It  is  so  completely  imbedded  in 
the  structure  of  the  ode,"  says  Scudder,  "  that  it  is  difficult 
to  think  of  it  as  an  afterthought.  It  is  easy  to  perceive  that 
while  the  glow  of  composition  and  of  recitation  was  still 
upon  him,  Lowell  suddenly  conceived  this  splendid  illustra 
tion,  and  indeed  climax  of  the  utterance,  of  the  Ideal  which 
is  so  impressive  in  the  fifth  stanza  .  .  .  Into  these  threescore 
lines  Lowell  has  poured  a  conception  of  Lincoln,  which  may 
justly  be  said  to  be  to-day  the  accepted  idea  which  Americans 
hold  of  their  great  President.  It  was  the  final  expression 
of  the  judgment  which  had  slowly  been  forming  in  Lowell's 
own  mind." 

In  a  letter  to  Richard  Watson  Gilder,  Lowell  says:  "  The 
passage,  about  Lincoln  was  not  in  the  ode  as  originalty  re 
cited,  but  added  immediately  after.  More  than  eighteen 
months  before,  however,  I  had  written  about  Lincoln  in  the 
North  American  Review  —  an  article  that  pleased  him.  I 
did  divine  him  earlier  than  most  men  of  the  Brahmin  caste." 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that  the  other  great  New  England 
poets,  Longfellow,  Whittier,  and  Holmes,  had  almost  nothing 
to  say  about  Lincoln. 

150.     Wept  with  the  passion,  etc. :  An  article  in  the  Atlantic 


166  NOTES 

Monthly  for  June,  1865, began  with  this  passage:  "  The  funera\ 
procession  of  the  late  President  of  the  United  States  has 
passed  through  the  land  from  Washington  to  his  final  resting- 
place  in  the  heart  of  the  prairies.  Along  the  line  of  more 
than  fifteen  hundred  miles  his  remains  were  borne,  as  it 
were,  through  continued  lines  of  the  people;  and  the  number 
of  mourners  and  the  sincerity  and  unanimity  of  grief  was 
such  as  never  before  attended  the  obsequies  of  a  human 
being;  so  that  the  terrible  catastrophe  .of  his  end  hardly 
struck  more  awe  than  the  m.  jestic  sorrow  of  the  people." 

170.  Outward  grace  is  dust:  An  allusion  to  Lincoln's 
awkward  and  rather  unkempt  outward  appearance. 

173.  Supple-tempered  will:  One  of  the  most  pronounced 
traits  of  Lincoln's  character  was  his  kindly,  almost  femininely 
gentle  and  sympathetic  spirit.  With  this,  however,  was 
combined  a  determination  of  steel. 

175-178.  Nothing  of  Europe  here:  There  was  nothing  of 
Europe  in  him,  or,  if  anything,  it  was  of  Europe  in  her  early 
ages  of  freedom  before  there  was  any  distinction  of  slave 
and  master,  groveling  Russian  Serf  and  noble  Lord  or  Peer. 

180.  One  of  Plutarch's  men:  The  distinguished  men  of 
Greece  and  Rome  whom  Plutarch  immortalized  in  his  Lives 
are  accepted  as  types  of  human  greatness. 

182.     Innative:  Inborn,  natural. 

187.  He  knew  to  bide  his  time:  He  knew  how  to  bide  his 
time,  as  in  Milton's  Lycidas,  "  He  knew  himself  to  sing." 
Recall  illustrations  of  Lincoln's  wonderful  patience  and  faith. 

198.  The  first  American:  In  a  prose  article,  Lowell  calls 
him  "  The  American  of  Americans."  Compare  Tennyson's 
"The  last  great  Englishman,"  in  the  Ode  on  the  Death  of  the 
Duke  of  Wellington.  Stanza  IV  of  Tennyson's  ode  should 
be  compared  with  this  Lincoln  stanza. 

202.  Along  whose  course,  etc.:  Along  the  course  leading  to 
the  "  inspiring  goal."  The  conjunction  of  the  words  "  pole  " 
and  "  axles"  easily  leads  to  a  confusion  of  metaphor  in  the 
passage.  The  imagery  is  from  the  ancient  chariot  races 


NOTES  167 

232.  Paean:  A  pjcan,  originally  a  hymn  to  Apollo, 
usually  of  thanksgiving,  is  a  song  of  triumph,  any  loud  and 
joyous  song. 

236.  Dear  ones:  Underwood  says  in  his  biography  of 
Lowell:  "  In  the  privately  printed  edition  of  the  poem  the 
names  of  eight  of  the  poet's  kindred  are  given.  The  nearest 
in  Wood  are  the  nephews,  General  Charles  Russell  Lowell, 
killed  at  Winchester,  Lieutenant  James  Jackson  Lowell,  at 
Seven  Pines,  and  Captain  William  Lowell  Putnam,  at  Ball's 
Bluff.  Another  relative  was  the  heroic  Colonel  Robert  G. 
Shaw,  who  fell  in  the  assault  on  Fort  Wagner." 

As  a  special  memorial  of  Colonel  Shaw,  Lowell  wrote  the 
poem,  Memoriae  Positum.  With  deep  tenderness  he  refers 
to  his  nephews  in  "  Mr.  Hosea  Biylow  to  the  Editor  of  the 
Atlantic  Monthly  ": 

"  Why,  hain't  I  held  'em  on  my  knee? 

Did  n't  I  love  to  see  'em  growin', 
Three  likely  lads  ez  wal  could  be, 

Hahnsome  an'  brave  an'  not  tit  knowin'? 
I  set  an'  look  into  the  blaze 

Whose  natur',  jes'  like  theirn,  keeps  cVmbin*, 
Ez  long  'z  it  lives,  in  shinin'  ways, 

An'  half  despise  myself  for  rhyming 

Wut's    words  to  them  whose  faith  an'  truth 

On  War's  red  techstone  rang  true  metal, 
Who  ventered  life  an'  love  an'  youth 

For  the  gret  prize  o'  death  in  battle? 
To  him  who,  deadly  hurt,  agen 

Flashed  on  afore  the  charge's  thunder, 
Tippin'  with  fire  the  bolt  of  men 

Thet  rived  the  Rebel  line  asunder?  " 

243.  When  Moses  sent  men  to  "  spy  out  "  the  Promised 
Land,  they  reported  a  land  that  "  floweth  with  milk  and 
honey,"  and  they  "  came  unto  the  brook  of  Eshcol,  and  cut 


168  NOTES 

down  from  thence  a  branch  with  one  cluster  of  grapes,  and 
they  bare  it  between  two  upon  a  staff;  and  they  brought  ot 
the  pomegranates  and  of  the  figs"   (lumbers  xiii.) 
245.     Compare  the  familiar  line  in  dray's  Elegy: 

"  The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave." 
and  Tennyson's  line,  in  the  Ode  to  the  Duke  of  Wellington: 
"  The  path  of  duty  was  the  way  of  glory." 

In  a  letter  to  T.  W.  Higgh.son,  who  was  editing  the  Har 
vard  Memorial  Biographies,  in  which  he  was  to  print  the  ode, 
Lowell  asked  to  have  the  following  passage  inserted  at  this 
point: 

"  Virtue  treads  paths  that  end  not  in  the  grave, 

But  through  those  constellations  go 

That  shed  celestial  influence  on  the  brave. 

If  life  were  but  to  draw  this  dusty  breath 

That  doth  our  wits  enslave, 

And  with  the  crowd  to  hurry  to  and  fro, 

Seeking  we  know  not  what,  and  finding  death, 

These  did  unwisely;  but  if  living  be, 

As  some  are  born  to  know, 

The  power  to  ennoble,  and  inspire 

In  other  sovtls  our  brave  desire 

For  fruit,  not  leaves,  of  Time's  immortal  tree, 

These  truly  live,  our  thought's  essential  fire, 

And  to  the  saner,"  etc. 

Lowell's  remark  in  The  Cathedral,  that  "  second  thoughts 
are  prose,"  might  be  fairly  applied  to  this  emendation. 
Fortunately,  the  passage  was  never  inserted  in  the  ode. 

255.  Orient:  The  east,  morning;  hence  youth,  aspiration, 
hope.  The  figure  is  continued  in  1.  271.  . 

262.  Who  now  shall  sneer?  In  a  letter  to  Mr.  J.  B 
Thayer,  who  had  criticized  this  strophe,  Lowell  admits 
"  that  there  is  a  certain  narrowness  in  it  as  an  expression  of 


NOTES  169 

the  popular  feeling  as  well  as  my  own.  I  confess  I  have 
never  got  over  the  feeling  of  wrath  with  which  (just  after 
the  death  of  my  nephew  Willie)  I  read  in  an  English  paper 
that  nothing  was  to  be  hoped  of  an  army  officered  by  tailors' 
apprentices  and  butcher  boys."  But  Lowell  asks  his  critic 
to  observe  that  this  strophe  "  leads  naturally  "  to  the  next, 
and  *'  that  I  there  justify  "  the  sentiment. 

265.  Roundhead  and  Cavalier:  In  a  general  way,  it  ia 
said  that  New  England  was  settled  by  the  Roundheads,  or 
Puritans,  of  England,  and  the  South  by  the  Cavaliers  or 
Royalists. 

272-273.  Plantagenets :  A  line  of  English  kings,  founded 
by  Henry  II,  called  also  the  House  of  Anjou,  from  their 
French  origin.  The  House  of  Hapsburg  is  the  Imperial 
family  of  Austria.  The  Guelfs  were  a  great  political  party  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  in  Italy,  representing  the  Pope  in  the  bitter 
struggles  with  the  Ghibellines,  who  represented  the  Emperor. 

323.  With  this  passage  read  the  last  two  stanzas  of  Mr. 
Hosea  Biylow  to  the  Editor  of  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  beginning: 

"  Come,  Peace!  not  like  a  mourner  bowed 
For  honor  lost  and  dear  ones  wasted, 
But  proud,  to  meet  a  people  proud, 
With  eyes  that  tell  of  triumphs  tasted!  '* 

328.  Helm:  The  helmet,  the  part  of  ancient  armor  for 
protecting  the  head,  used  here  as  the  symbol  of  war. 

343.  Upon  receiving  the  news  that  the  war  was  ended, 
Lowell  wrote  to  his  friend,  Charles  Eliot  Norton:  "  The  news, 
my  dear  Charles,  is  from  Heaven.  I  felt  a  strange  and  tender 
exaltation.  I  wanted  to  laugh  and  I  wanted  to  cry,  and 
ended  by  holding  my  peace  and  feeling  devoutly  thankful. 
There  is  something  magnificent  in  having  a  country  to  love." 


EXAMINATION  QUESTIONS    , 

* 

The  following  questions  are  taken  from  recent  examination  papers  of 
the  Examination  Board  established  by  the  Association  of  Schools  and 
Colleges  in  the  Middle  States  and  Maryland,  and  of  the  Regents  of  the 
State  of  New  York.  Generally  only  one  question  on  The  Vision  of  Sir 
Launfal  is  included  iu  the  examination  paper  for  each  year. 

Under  what  circumstances  did  the  "vision"  come  to  Sir 
Launfal?  What  was  the  vision?  What  was  the  effect  upon 
him? 

What  connection  have  the  preludes  in  the  Vision  of  Sir 
Launfal  with  the  main  divisions  which  they  precede?  Wrhat 
is  their  part  in  the  poem  as  a  whole? 

Contrast  Sir  Launfal 's  treatment  of  the  leper  at  their  first 
meeting  with  his  treatment  at  their  second. 

1.  Describe  a  scene  from  the  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal. 

2.  Describe  the  hall  of  the  castle  as  Sir  Launfal  saw  it  on 
Christmas  eve. 

"  The  soul  partakes  the  season's  youth  .  .  . 
•    What  wonder  if  Sir  Launfal  now 

Remembered  the  keeping  of  his  vow?" 

Give  the  meaning  of  these  lines,  and  explain  what  you 
think  is  Lowell's  purpose  in  the  preface  from  which  they 
are  taken.  Give  the  substance  of  the  corresponding  preface 
to  the  other  part  of  the  poem,  and  account  for  the  difference 
between  the  two. 

Describe  the  scene  as  it  might  have  appeared  to  one  stand 
ing  just  outside  the  castle  gate,  as  Sir  Launfal  emerged  from 
his  castle  in  his  search  for  the  Holy  Grail. 

Compare  the  Ancient  Mariner  and  the  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal 
with  regard  to  the  representation  of  a  moral  idea  in  each. 
171 


172  EXAMINATION   QUESTIONS 

Explain  the  moaning  of  Sir  Launfal's  vision  and  show  how 
it  affected  his  conduct. 

Describe  an  ideal  summer  day  as  portrayed  in  the  Vision 
of  Sir  Launfal. 

Quote  at  least  ten  lines. 

Discuss,  with  illustrations,  Lowell's  descriptions  in  the 
Vision  of  Sir  Launfal,  touching  on  two  of  the  following  points: 
—  (a)  beauty,  (/>)  vividness,  (/•)  attention  to  details. 

Write  a  description  of  winter  as  given  in  Part  Second. 

Outline  in  tabular  form  ti;c  story  of  Sir  Launfal's  search 
for  the  Holy  Grail;  be  careful  to  include  in  your  outline  the 
time,    the   place,    the   leading   characters,    and   the   leading 
events  in  their  order. 
I 


Date  Due 





3   1970  00287  6420 


A     000  545  991     2 


on  tract  Price. ,  •  .35  cents 

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